


Cull Note

by Kyky25, PumpkinFullOfKnives



Category: Death Note, Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Sgrub Session, Alternian Empire Death Note AU, F/M, Gen, Minimal Shipping, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-05
Updated: 2015-06-03
Packaged: 2017-12-07 12:35:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 21
Words: 43,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/748562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kyky25/pseuds/Kyky25, https://archiveofourown.org/users/PumpkinFullOfKnives/pseuds/PumpkinFullOfKnives
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"The troll whose name is written in this notebook shall die."<br/>- Rule #1 of the Cull Note.</p><p>Needless to say, when Karkat Vantas finds it on his 7th wriggling day, shit begins to get real alarmingly fast.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. An Introduction

"Nearly all trolls can stand adversity. If you want a true test of a troll's character, give them power."  
\- The Sufferer

* * *

 

Your name is KARKAT VANTAS, and today is your SEVENTH WRIGGLING DAY. You have ONE FRIEND in total, and NO ENEMIES of note, unless you count yourself, which at this point you think you might. You spend most of your time starting arguments with other trolls online. You usually lose said arguments, but nonetheless you argue with great fervor and reckless abandon, cursing such up a storm that, if unleashed upon the unsuspecting galaxy at large, could possibly bring down the Empire itself. Well, not really. But that doesn't mean you wouldn't want it to. If it was possible hate trolls to death, you would be a very dangerous troll.

Still, your hatred of the Empire is meager by comparison to your self-hatred. It is approaching kismessitude territory at a rapid pace, which KIND OF FREAKS YOU OUT.

Your one friend is KANAYA MARYAM. She is pretty much the only troll you can stand interacting with consistently. But this is NOT HER INTRO PAGE, we’re saving that for later.

One other thing to note about you is a secret you’ve hidden all your life. You are NOT ON THE HEMOSPECTRUM, the blood color coded caste system of your race. Instead, you are below it, with the mutant, impossibly low-class blood color of CANDY RED. This fact is the one that destroyed your hopes of joining the THRESHECUTIONER ORDER, the most deadly members of Troll society. Well, that and the fact that, hard as you try, you ARE TERRIBLE AT FIGHTING WITH SICKLES, but you’d prefer think of yourself as a persecuted mutant than a mediocre fighter.

In fact, you think the chances of you being culled for having mutant blood upon reaching adulthood are exceedingly high, if not a TOTAL CERTAINTY.

Your trolltag is carcinoGeneticist and you speak in a manner that is ALMOST EXCLUSIVELY ORNERY, ALL THE TIME.

Tonight is the most important night of your life. But you don’t know it yet.

What will you do?


	2. Blood

"Blood alone moves the wheels of history."  
\- Executor Darkleer

* * *

 

carcinoGeneticist [CG] began trolling grimAuxiliatrix [GA]

****

CG: HELLO KANAYA.  
GA: Happy Wriggling Day Karkat  
CG: YEAH YEAH WHO CARES.   
GA: I Do  
CG: AND I DON’T.  
GA: Karkat  
GA: Why Are You So Dismissive Of It  
CG: BECAUSE IT’S AN IDIOTIC MILESTONE. I DON’T CARE ABOUT IT IN THE LEAST.  
CG: CAN WE CHANGE THE SUBJECT?  
GA: It Is Not A Problem  
GA: You Are A Friend, After All  
CG: YEAH, I GUESS.  
CG: YOU ARE A GOOD FRIEND TOO.  
CG: I REALLY WISH YOU WERE STILL HERE ON ALTERNIA.  
GA: All Trolls Must Leave The Homeworld Upon Adulthood  
GA: I Am No Exception  
GA: You'll Be Out Here In The Galaxy Too In Just One More Sweep.  
CG: I SHOULDN'T HAVE BROUGHT THIS UP.  
CG: MY SITUATION ISN'T THAT SIMPLE.  
CG: I DON'T *GET* TO WORRY ABOUT WHETHER I'LL BE A CAVALREAPER, THRESHECUTIONER OR EVEN A FUCKING LEGISLACERATOR FOR ALL I CARE!  
GA: What Do You Mean  
CG: SHIT.  
CG: I KEEP OPENING MY DAMNED WINDHOLE WITHOUT MY WORDS BEING ENTIRELY FUCKING PROCESSED IN MY THINKPAN.  
CG: I SHOULDN'T HAVE TOLD YOU THAT.  
GA: Should I Be Concerned  
GA: You Are Starting To Worry Me  
CG: SORRY.  
CG: I DON'T WANT TALK ABOUT ABOUT IT. NOT NOW, PROBABLY NOT EVER.  
CG: SO DON'T TRY AND PRESS ME FOR ANSWERS.  
GA: Alright  
GA: I Would Like To State For The Record That If You Ever Do Need To Talk About Whatever This Is  
GA: I Am Willing To Listen  
CG: THANKS, I GUESS.  
CG: I’M GONNA HEAD ON OUT NOW. I THINK IT’S DARK ENOUGH FOR ME TO TAKE A WALK.  
GA: I Will Talk To You Later Then  
GA: Have A Nice Walk  
 ****

carcinoGeneticist [CG] ceased trolling grimAuxiliatrix [GA]

****

**Karkat: Worry.**

You stand up, leaving your husktop open, while muttering curses at your recent past self. In short, you think, that was stupid. Really unconditionally idiotic. You never wanted Kanaya to know of your probable impending doom. To have mutant, candy red blood is a death sentence, you’re fairly sure. The second that the Imperial ships would go to take you as an adult at eight sweeps to fight for the Empire, they'd test your blood, and promptly have you culled. You’re fairly sure of that. You now have pretty much exactly a sweep to live.

So of course you went and made Kanaya worry about you. The one troll you actually care about was going to be concerned over your well being, and there was, of course, not one single fucking thing she could actually do to help you. You probably shouldn’t dwell on it, but you probably will anyway.

You meander past your recuperacoon. There are several torn-down posters of romance movies rolled up in the corner by it. Looking at them, you recall when you gave up your delusion of, and obsession with, your formerly alleged stranglehold on all the nuances of troll romance. Looking back, you realize it was pretty stupid of you to ever think you had a clue what you were talking about. Troll romance is a complicated subject and you are not good at it. Past you was an idiot to think himself a master of the quadrants.

Since you are going out for a walk in the town, you captchalogue your sickle into your strife deck. Never know what could happen. Walking downstairs, you see your Lusus getting a snack from the meal vault. You just walk on by, you don’t feel up for dealing with him currently. You care about him, but he still gets on your nerves frequently.

Looking out the window, you observe the town. The run-down area you reside in is largely populated by fellow lowbloods. On the whole, it’s a pretty ugly little town full of run-down and abandoned hives, and there’s no law enforcement to speak of. This does have its benefits, however. Young trolls hoping to become legislacerators once they leave Alternia tend to be needlessly cruel in their enforcement of their twisted concept of justice, where it all comes down to the blood. So a little anarchy might not be the worst thing in a lowblood town, particularly for a mutant like you. Still, you’re probably smart not to go out much. Doesn’t stop you this time though.

As you step into the cool night air, you look up at stars, and the twin moons of Alternia. Your mind wanders, and you begin to ponder what it would be like to be up there in space, with Kanaya, exploring the stars. You try to squash this meaningless fantasy out of your head, but you don’t quite manage it. Instead you try to replace it with the immutable truths of your life; the Empire is twisted, the hemospectrum is stupid, Her Imperious Condescension is a fucking lunatic, you are a dead troll walking, and you are also fucking angry about it all. Sometimes you wonder how troll society got so fucked up.

You get the feeling it’s going to be a long night.

Walking down the streets, you keep your head down and move quickly. It’s somewhat chilly out, which is not helped by the brisk alternian night wind blowing right in your face. You’d hoped this walk would calm you down somewhat. It doesn’t appear to be working.

There are a few other trolls out on and about tonight. You don’t know any of them, of course. A bunch of them are at the theater, standing around waiting to get in. There’s a new Troll Johnny Depp movie out, it seems. Something about space pirates. You think it’s a sequel. Your lack of interest is profound, despite your vague recollection that Troll Johnny Depp is quite a skilled actor. You really don’t give so much as half a fuck about fiction these days. The real world is broken, the systems that govern society are all fucked up, and you don’t want to lose yourself in fiction anymore. You want to do something. If only there was something you could actually do.

It’s a this point you realize you are pulling yourself into a frustrating and useless train of thought again but you don’t care, so you keep ranting to yourself in your head. You can’t do a damn thing about society or the hemospectrum or the Empire. All this tyranny, entrenched in so many colors of blood. Most trolls think it’s normal, that this how things have to be, simply because it’s how it’s always been. It makes you so fucking angry. And so on. You continue your mental rant for some time, only barely paying attention to where you are going.

Eventually you look up, determining your location to be just a block or so away from your hive. You seem to have been walking in a long circle, or some other geometric shit leading back the direction where you started. You know a shortcut to get back to your hive faster; there’s an alley over there that lets out just next to it, so you head over there. As you enter the alley, you hear footsteps behind you. This is clearly not a good thing to wind up hearing on a brisk Alternian night while entering an alley, so you try to move a bit faster towards your home. The footsteps following you speed up as well. You look behind you and barely dodge the blade, stumbling to the ground away from your attacker.

**STRIFE!**

As you fall, the sight of a short, scruffy looking troll with long hair and tall twisted horns barely registers, mainly because that fucker’s sword was inches from cutting your neck open. You let out a resounding “Fuck!” as you hit the ground. He calmly walks towards you, his blade pointed towards your neck. Standing over you, he smirks and says “Sorry”, lazily raising his blade for a first and final blow.

It is at this point that you kick him in the autoerogenous shame globes.

Your attacker howls in pain, in state of stunned agony. With a burst of adrenaline, you manage to scramble away from him and stand up. By the time you draw your sickle from your strife deck, he's charging at you again. Running on pure panicked instinct, you try to deflet his blade. Surprisingly enough, you succeed. Less surprisingly, he manages to punch you in nose immediately afterward.

Recoiling from the blow to your face, you curse loudly and repeatedly. To say that it hurts would be an understatement, but you try to strike back at him anyway. You swing your sickle frantically, and your adversary dodges the first swing and blocks the second. You're flipping the fuck out here though, and in a blind rage, you manage to slice his blade claw on the your third swing. He yelps in pain and drops his sword, and it’s then you know you’ve got him. Kicking him in the stomach, you then pin him to the wall, sickle to his neck. His confidence is shattered; he’s cursing and even crying, olive tears flowing down his face, olive blood running from his wounded claw. He knows he's lost, he’s panicking, but he wants to live.

"Why the fuck did you try to cull me you moronic little wriggler!?", you scream in his face.

He stutters, grasping his wounded hand. “I... oh don’t cull me... no no no no, no no-”

“You have seven seconds until I stick my sickle down your meal tunnel and rip you open, you vile bulgestain! Answer the damn question!”

He’s looking around eyes darting and unfocused “I don’t like culling, but I needed- wait- no, your blood, how-”

“Who the fuck are you and why were you trying to cull me, you ignorant twit!”, you roar.

“You... your blood... what are-”

This is when you realize it. Your nose is bleeding. It’s bleeding, he punched it earlier and now you’re leaking mutant blood all over the ground. You summarize this in your thinkpan with a single thought: _FUCK!_

You cull the thug who attacked you quickly, in a fit of anger and frustration. You can’t afford to let him live; he saw your blood, after all. When you open his neck with your sickle, he slumps to the ground by the side of the alley, very dead. Candy red blood drips from your nose, mixing with his olive blood in a puddle. You stand there for a second, looking at his corpse, before you cover your wound with a claw, trying to hide your wound. Quickly re-captchalogueing your sickle, you sprint back to your hive as fast as you can manage, slamming the door behind you.

Once the door to your hive is closed, you take a second to catch your breath, leaning back on the door. Walking around town is tiring after a while, and nearly getting culled in a fight is even more so. You’ve avoided fights like this your whole life- you argue online a lot, to be sure, but people can’t cut or beat you online. No-one can cull you via the web if they think your GrubTube comments are annoying or crabby. They can piss you off, to be sure, but all in all, it’s safe. You don’t go out more precisely because things like this could happen.

The fact that you culled some shithead mugger is bothering you. He attacked you, sure, but something about it just doesn’t sit right with you. You decide to worry about it later. You survived to fight another day. That’s the important bit, you’re fairly sure.

You go over to the other room to grab a tissue to soak up your nosebleed, but your Lusus is blocking the doorway. He’s looking at you, probably concerned or something. Scowling, you push past him and grab the tissue before storming upstairs.

As you enter your respiteblock, you hear thunder in the distance. Outside, the rain is washing away the blood in the alley. It’s been a long fucking night, and you are sick of approximately everything. Sitting down at your desk, you notice a black notebook that wasn’t there before. Before you can examine it, an apparently blank message pops up on your husktop. Upon closer inspection, it’s from some asshole who uses a white font in Trollian chats.

 

**Karkat: Highlight text.**

****  
****

Mr. Vantas.  
I would like to congratulate you on your first culling. I would wish you many more such successes for the future, but I already know exactly how many more lives you will end, so wishes are irrelevant in this regard.  
In any case, I suggest you look at the notebook. I know you will find it a suitable gift for your wriggling day.  
I will contact you again.

****

You attempt to type in a response to violently berate this pretentious shit, but the fucker’s not online. It seems his identity is masked from Trollian, and you cannot contact him currently at all. What a tool. Turning to the notebook, you notice the words “Cull Note” written in neat white text on the cover. Below that, what appears to be an image of face, with no nose and its mouth sewn shut, is imprinted upon the cover, also in white. Opening the notebook, you begin to read.

 

  1. The troll whose name is written in this notebook shall die.

  2. This notebook will not take effect unless the writer has the troll's face in their mind when writing his/her name. Therefore, trolls sharing the same name will not be affected.

  3. If the cause of death is written within the next 40 seconds of writing the troll’s name, it will happen.

  4. If the cause of death is not specified, the troll will simply die of a heart attack.

  5. After writing the cause of death, details of the death should be written in the next 6 minutes and 40 seconds.

 




Multiple thoughts are running through your thinkpan right now, but most of them are dismissive and disbelieving. Still, you think, it can’t hurt to try.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapters will be regularly posted to this location in segments before they are finalized and added to AO3: http://mspaforums.com/showthread.php?53017-Cull-Note-A-Homestuck-Death-Note-Fanfiction
> 
> Comments, reviews, kudos, ect are greatly appreciated. I hope you all enjoy reading my fic.


	3. Forcing Change

"I am Her Imperious Condescension, empress of fuckin empresses;

Look on all my power and bling, you beaches, and beware!"

\- Her Imperious Condescension

* * *

 

You sit at your desk, pen in hand. Somewhere along the line of the incompetent attempt on your life by some mugger, the message from some enigmatic asshat who typed in white with no trolltag, and the mysterious appearance of the notebook which could allegedly do very obviously impossible things, you had become quite certain someone was messing with you.

You let out a loud, frustrated groan, and flip the notebook past the rules to a clear, lined page. You can't believe you are playing along with this musclebeastshit.

_Looks like a regular fucking notebook to me. I don't see how giving it a shot could hurt, though, besides feeling stupid for trying it in retrospect. Whatever._

After you stare at the page for another half minute, you decide who to test it on. Then, with some nervousness, you hastily write down the name of the empress.

After you put your pen down, you immediately open your browser. Clicking on your bookmark to GrubTube, you scroll down to the Imperial News Network’s channel. The only official source of news in the whole of Alternian Imperial space, the INN was, of course, filled with news stories and opinion pieces that ranged from “pro-imperial spin” to “almost certainly blatant lies”.

You don’t need what they say to be true, however. You just need to see what the Condesce is up to, and determine if this notebook actually does work. The INN tends to keep close track of Her Imperious Condescension's activities, at least those that aren’t secret. Her regular public cullings of would-be heirs in the Imperial Arena, or her dedicating the occasional statue to herself in some excessively public ceremony, which is what she’s doing now. The bitch always has loved attention.

Checking the time, you see that there are 23 seconds left until presumably absolutely nothing will happen, since this couldn't possibly actually do anything. You can’t believe you’re playing along with this sick joke. Still, you wonder what would happen to the Empire if this did work. It certainly couldn't get much worse.

The news stream zooms in on Her Imperious Condescension. She is on a balcony on the front of an underwater palace, surrounded by counts, dukes, or whatever other titles she gives to her favorite seadweller advisers who she hasn't culled yet. A group of slightly less important seadwellers are in the courtyard below. Most are looking up at their empress, with the occasional glance at the shrouded stature in the middle of the group below.

12 seconds.

The Condesce walks forward, greeting her subjects in her usual idiotic slang.

Applause and cheers erupt from the seadwellers below. Her advisers clap in a more polite and restrained manner.

4 seconds.

The shroud is pulled from over the statue in the courtyard. A solid gold, glitter-covered statue of Her Imperious Condescension is revealed, in all its gaudy splendor.

1 second.

The Empress of the Alternian Empire clutches her chest, clearly in pain.

0 seconds. She wobbles, and collapses to the floor of the balcony.

You flip the fuck out.

**====== >**

The realization of what has just happened is taking a bit of time to sink in, but this does not do much to hinder on onset of your panic attack.

 _Fuck,_ you think, _what the fuck what the fuck what the fuck!_ Your blood pump is pounding, your head is spinning. You begin to hyperventilate. _This is goddamn full-on crazy, it’s impossible_ , you try to rationalize. Indeed, there should be no way to cull someone lightsweeps away. Security on water planets is insanely tight, particularly at the seat of imperial power. And even so, it had been rumored that Her Imperious Condescension is near immortal- she has ruled for over three hundred sweeps, after all. There’s no way she could die just like that.

Nevertheless, it does seem to have happened. Your eyes are fixed to the news stream as a moment of awkward, confused silence is followed by an outbreak of chaos. The trolls in the courtyard, after realizing that something has gone quite wrong, begin to scurry about in a frenzy. One of the advisers on the balcony begins to nervously approach the empress’s limp form. That’s when the stream goes down, replaced by a screen declaring "Technical Difficulties, Please Stand By".

_She grabbed her chest and fell down... that doesn’t mean it was a heart attack, blood pump failure, whatever. That doesn’t mean I culled her, it couldn’t have been me. She’s fucking crazy and evil and she fucking deserves it to be sure, but I couldn’t have just culled the goddamn Condesce._

You begin trying to calm yourself. _Even if I did- even if I did cull her, even if I did just cull the goddamn Empress, the most powerful troll in history, how could they know it was me? They can’t. There’s no way they could forensically tell that the empress was culled by me, on the other end of the galaxy, writing in a fucking notebook. They can’t send threshecutioners and legislacerators to cull me if they don’t know I did this. I’ve still got a sweep to live, most likely._

You look at back at the notebook. The empress’s name is written there, in your near-illegible scrawl. Your pen lays on the no longer quite empty page. The thoughts process in your head, driving you towards the inevitable conclusion. This is the solution you’ve always wanted, better than you could have ever dreamed of. The empire can be fixed, with a few choice strokes of the pen. The white text guy were right, it seems. Tonight is a good night, and this is a spectacular present for your wriggling day.

You begin to laugh. It’s a harsh sound, and growing louder.


	4. Miracles

* * *

“The world is indeed comic, but the joke is on trollkind.”

\- The Grand Highblood

* * *

 

You are GAMZEE MAKARA, SUBJUGGLATOR TRAINEE.

You were sworn into service as a subjugglator to serve the GLORY of the Empire, the MIGHT of the Eternal Empress, and the ORDER of the Mirthful Church. You belong to the motherfucking CHURCH of the MIRTHFUL MESSIAHS. You motherfucking wanted to MOTHERFUCKING _belong_.

Being about as much a highblood as land-dwellers could be, much was expected of you. You should have been on the fast track. Your chucklevoodoos were strong and you were perfectly capable of ripping off a MOTHERFUCKER'S head if you needed to. They wanted you to be the BEST, most VICIOUS and DEADLY motherfucker around.

To put it simply, you weren't.

An IDIOT and an ADDICT, they called you. A weak-willed FAILURE, dead in the thinkpan and without so much as a scrap of ambition. Well, those MOTHERFUCKERS would motherfucking KNOW, wouldn't they?

They sure as hell would.

They couldn't do much about your sopor slime. After all, you did need a MOTHERFUCKING recuperacoon FILLED with the motherfucking stuff, right? You just weren't supposed to make PIES out of it. But you did, because you GOTTA DO what feels MOTHERFUCKING RIGHT, y'know?

You didn't pass the tests on church law, culling procudures, or any of that motherfucking SHIT. One might even say you FAILED with FLYING COLORS.

The night you slept through the scripture exam, Her Imperious Condescension, the ALLEGED IMMORTAL, fell over dead for no motherfucking REASON.

And here you are now, off the SLIME and out of your GODSDAMN THINKPAN.

Your trolltag is terminallyCapricious and you speak in a manner that is JuSt A lItTlE bIt WhImSiCaL.

You would get the feeling it's going to be a long night, but you are on the Imperial MOTHERFUCKING Space Ship _Begotten_ , and the night out here don't motherfucking END anyway.

**====== >**

The rest of the written exams come the next night. You fail again, but not due to a lack of focus. Your mind is CLEAR, it’s MOTHERFUCKING PRISTINE up in there. It’s just that you don’t give a shit.

You’re in your quarters trying to sleep when the loudspeaker hums to life. A solemn voice speaks. You think it’s the captain of the vessel, but you sure as hell ain’t motherfucking sure.

“I am deeply sorry to announce that we just got word from I.S.S. _Resplendent_ that… The Grand Highblood collapsed in his palace on Yarvolis an hour ago. Attempts were made to resuscitate him, without success.”

You can hear a clamor of noise throughout the _Begotten_. The sound of anguished cries, the noise of woe. The voice continues on, in a pained, mourning tone.

“The Mirthful Church is without a leader. The Higher Council will convene in three nights to select a new Grand Highblood. Try not to let this disrupt your training, the combat exam is in less than a week.”

The noise persists, but you don’t cry out. You don’t wail and pound your fists on the wall. Your mind is spinning. The Empress and Grand Highblood are both dead, one after another. That doesn’t sound like a MOTHERFUCKING coincidence to you. They were culled. Some motherfucker culled them.

But it’s impossible, is the MOTHERFUCKING problem. You’re pretty sure the planet Yarvolis is on the other side of the galaxy from where Her Imperious Condescension fell over dead. So what the motherfuck happened? It would take some sort of miracle to-

You stop yourself short. That’s blasphemy you just almost thought. Blasphemy is a vile thing, the enemy of faith, the nemesis of the Messiahs. Blasphemy is what you’re being trained to fight.

So why does it make so much MOTHERFUCKING SENSE?

No troll could have culled those two high and mighty motherfuckers. But they sure as hell MOTHERFUCKING DIED. Someone had to make that happen. Maybe a Messiah. Maybe everything you’ve been taught has been wrong. Bogus gods and false ideals. Maybe the whole damn system was fucked, so the Messiah went and removed the motherfucking trolls who were fucking it over. Maybe they were the real blasphemers.

Maybe. You’re not sure. But this idea, it feels MOTHERFUCKING RIGHT to you.

You start to laugh.

**====== >**

Three nights later, you and your fellow trainees stand in the combat training block, waiting for the Combat Examiner. There's a table full of melee weapons on the other end of the training block. You're in the second row of trainees back. To your left is a scrawny motherfucking WIMP who probably aced all the written exams and is about to get his head ripped off in this one. To your right is an overconfident and burly FOOL who likely bombed the previous exams nearly as bad as you did. He almost certainly intends to make up for it by smashing in some MOTHERFUCKING FACES.

You, you're doing fine. Just motherfucking GROOVY, relishing your prior HOLY REVELATION. It eats at you, all this knowing without being able to MOTHERFUCKING PREACH it. But you've got your knowing on. It'll be time soon enough. You can can motherfucking FEEL IT.

Subjugglator Enmera Jarvid strides into the room. She's your combat trainer and the Examiner for this, the final and most important exam. She's also a total wicked bitch, but in the bad way, not the badass way. Maybe both, actually, but that'd be a MOTHERFUCKING TECHNICALITY.

You don't like her, obviously. She's all pretension and cruelty, wouldn't know a miracle if one happened right under her own cartilaginous nub.

"So," she says, "You all want to be Subjugglators? Is that fuckin' right?"

All the trainees but you let out a resounding "Fuck yes!" Jarvid doesn't seem to have noticed your silence, but the motherfucker to your left looks at you funny afterwards.

Enmera sneers. "You do, do ya? Makes sense, 'cause if you cluckbeasted out now we'd have to space ya! But then again, I wouldn't trust the lot of you as fuckin' janitors! Maybe one of you has what it takes to get fuckin' anywhere! But know this- I fuckin' doubt it! I expect most of you will be culled and thrown in the dead-piles trying to quell a revolt on planet Assfuck Nowhere, your high blood spilled out over the godsdamn streets! You hear me?!"

A loud chorus of  "Fuck yes!" echos through the training block.

"And you all still want to be Subjugglators, the fist of the Mirthful Church?!"

Everyone else all goes FUCK YES and whatever you don't care.

She snarls, "Then why don't you fuckin' show me? Let's start with someone I can make a fuckin' example of! How about you, Trainee Makara?! The sopor-eating failure! Come over here and show me what the fuck you've got!"

Examiner Jarvid means to end you. She's MOTHERFUCKING SURE you'd be more useful dead than alive, an example in purple blood spilled. She's certainly well-trained enough to spill it. You know this.

And with all that known, you step forward. Gotta have some motherfucking FAITH, after all.

She gestures to the table of weapons in the back of the training block. "Select your weapons, trainee. Two at most."

You look at your options. Maces, flails, sickles, knives, sabers, staffs, culling forks, and more. Eventually you make a selection. Probably not the best, tactically speaking, but something about the pair of short, heavy clubs feels RIGHT to you.

Picking them up, you turn to face her. Examiner Jarvid is twirling a dagger in her left claw, and points a short sword at you with her right. She's smiling. You cannot wait to smash in her ARROGANT smirk. That shit's gonna be MOTHERFUCKING RIGHTEOUS.

"Begin."

The fight doesn't get to a rapid start. She walks towards you slowly, all casual and confident. Her short sword is still pointed at your face, her dagger held at her side. You just motherfucking stand there. She expects you to attack her. She will counter, you will die. That's her plan.

So you do something else

You speak.

"Your messiahs are dead."

She stops, and frowns. You let out a quiet “Hooonk”, and then you smile at her. Her face is contorted in rage.

“The Empire was set up for the benefit of two trolls. The messiahs of land and sea are dead. They were FALSE idols, brought down by a MOTHERFUCKING TRUE MESSIAH. And the mirthful gods, I'm thinking they were motherfucking bogus from the start.”

She charges at you in a fury, meaning to end your truth by removing your head. To her, your TRUTH is BLASPHEMY.

This shit might be somewhat relative. But you’ve picked your side here, and so has she.

You defend yourself, deflecting her first strike with a club. She slashes at your neck with the dagger, and you twist out of the way, faster than you thought you could move. Going off the sopor has helped your reaction time, it seems.

Enmera had probably expected to open your neck and finish you there. She underestimated you, and left herself open in a rush to cull you quickly. A rookie's mistake. But then, she was expecting the addict, the failure. You ain't those things anymore.

You bring a club down on Emera's left shoulder. There is a crack of bone, and she lets out a brief cry of pain. Her dagger drops to the floor from her now-limp arm.

The Examiner backs away from you then, quickly. Enmera's face is showing her wounded pride for all these other motherfucking trainees to bear witness to. Her eyes are cold and full of rage, but she speaks slowly, as if to try and hold it back.

"Trainee Makara. You've got impressive fierceness, all of a sudden. You've got the drive, it seems, and the hate, but you've got it all pointed at the _wrong fuckin' direction_. The Church is _salvation_. It is the _truth_ and the _fury_ , trainee Makara. To oppose it is treason, and treason is death. _Do you fuckin' understand that?_ "

You shrug. "I know a miracle when I MOTHERFUCKING SEE ONE, Examiner. Treason's just a word, used to keep things neat and orderly and wrong. Words don't mean shit."

"Then allow me to demonstrate by actions, _blasphemer_."

Enmera charges at you, faster than before. She may be down an arm, but she's fighting all-out now. She covers the ground between you in an instant. Moving like LIGHTNING she swats the club out of your right claw. You try and dodge her next blow, a kick to your chest, but she's too fast. You are slammed to the wall, and she stabs her blade towards your chest. You try to knock the blade aside with your claw, but she just stabs right through it with her short blade.

Her sword is lodged in your outstretched claw. She pushes the blade towards your chest, but you push back, your impaled palm sliding up the blade and grabbing the hilt of her sword. Warm, purple BLOOD drips down your arm. Before she can push the blade into your chest, you swing your remaining club at her face. Her jaw shatters, her sharp teeth falling to the floor. You raise the club and bring it down again.

Like that, the Examiner Jarvid is FINISHED. Her corpse collapses to the floor in a puddle of her purple blood. You pull her short sword out of your claw, realizing it should probably be hurting more than it is. You drop your club, and let out a victorious HONK.

You look over at the other trainees, who are gawking at you like a bunch of motherfucking  wrigglers. One of them, the burly one who had been standing to your right before Enmera had called you up to fight, charges at you. He is shouting about treason or something.

You dodge, and in a single motion, rip off his arm and slap him across the face with it. He falls to the floor, neck snapped from the blow. You’re still holding his arm when the ship's loudspeaker hums to life, and the captain speaks. That MOTHERFUCKER talks in shocked, numb tone.

"The Higher Council is has been culled. They... they collapsed, dead, same as Her Imperious Condescension, and the Grand Highblood. Some _thing_ has declared war on our Empire and our Church, through unknown means. We need our Messiahs, now, more than ever. Pray to them for an end to these dark times." The loudspeaker shuts off, and there is silence.

The other trainees are still standing there, silent and terrified. You drop the dead trainee’s arm, and stand in front of the table of weapons.

“Enmera said treason is DEATH. She was motherfucking WRONG, you hear? Look what happens to those who lead the CHURCH, those who lead this whole MOTHERFUCKING EMPIRE. To follow them, to do as they do, that is death. While they rule, treason is LIFE ITSELF.”

“So then, my brothers, do you want to live, or are you ready to motherfucking die?”

**====== >**

The remaining trainees pick treason over death. You can't say it MOTHERFUCKING SHOCKS you, but it is somewhat surprising how willingly they follow along. You suppose some them may have only worshiped the BOGUS MESSIAHS out of fear. They may seek more control over their lives than the motherfucking Empire would give them. But not all of them. You are sure there are some TRUE BELIEVERS of those FALSE GODS, much like you were, once. Some of them are surely only playing along since they saw you cull the deadliest troll on the ship. You'll have to watch out for them.

The I.S.S. _Begotten_ is not a large vessel. You're pretty sure the crew numbers in the twenties, roughly the same as the number of the trainees. You don't think many of them will pose a challenge. There may be three or four guards total, and it is unlikely the captain would be a total pushover. You doubt they'll be prepared for your MUTINY, though. Who ever heard heard of a mutiny on a subjugglator training vessel, anyway? You sure haven't. But you guess these MOTHERFUCKERS will, soon enough.

Your brothers and sisters pick their weapons from the table, and spread out to secure the ship. You make your way towards the bridge, taking two guards by surprise on the way there. They die FAST and EASY, if not CLEANLY. You hear footsteps, and turn to see the scrawny trainee who'd stood to your left earlier walking up to you. He looks you in the eye, and you can tell he has no fear for you. The motherfucker might be made of sterner stuff than you thought.

"Do you really think we'll survive this?"

"I have FAITH, brother."

"Uh-huh, sure. Let’s keep going, then."

He leans down to pick up the guns of the fallen guards. You hear shouts through the corridors of the _Begotten_ , sounds of fear and surprise, cut short by blades. These are the sounds of success. You smile, and walk forward towards the bridge door, a club in each claw.

When the door opens the captain is facing you, at least ten feet away. His gun is pointed at your chest, and three shots ring out. There is a flash of pain in your shoulder, and it takes you a second to realize only one of them hit you. The captain, on the other hand, has fallen to the floor in a puddle of purple, shot in the chest and shoulder. The scrawny troll walks past you, holding a smoking pistol, and fires off two more shots down into the captain's face. The pilot, unarmed, puts his claws up, surrendering. He is subsequently pistol-whipped, and falls unconscious in his chair.

Your wounded claw and shoulder are still bleeding, but once again the wound hurts less than you figure it MOTHERFUCKING SHOULD. Whatever. You make your way to the captain’s chair, and sit, letting out a quiet “honk”.

The scrawny troll turns to face you. “So, Makara. Looks like we’ve won this round, but I doubt that it will be long before the Empire sends vessels to hunt us down. You do realize that no troll has ever picked a fight like this with the Empire and won?”

You think this over for a second. “Times change, brother,” you say. “There is a new Messiah, and his will is clear. He shall PROVIDE for our SALVATION.”

He frowns at you. “To be totally honest, I’ve never actually bought into talk of any Messiahs, mirthful or otherwise. The damn drones picked me for this career, and I had to act the part as best I could.”

You’re amazed this motherfucker is still alive, having been an atheist in the ranks of the Mirthful church. Wow.

“Anyway,“ he continues, “ _please_ stop calling me brother, my name is Ezinir Veskim.”

“Ezinir, why would you help my cause if you DENY my Messiah?”

“Simple. As you said, times change. Besides, the die is already cast.”

Ezinir shoves the KO’d crewman out of the pilot’s seat, and sits in the emptied chair, facing forward.

“Woah, wait,” you say. “Can you fly one of these things?”

“Let’s just say I know how magnets work and leave it at that. Where to?”

You smile a WICKED GRIN and point ahead. “Forward.”


	5. Empress

“Power is of two kinds. One is obtained by the fear of punishment and the other by acts of love. Power based on love is a thousand times more effective and permanent than the one derived from fear of punishment.”

\- The Disciple

* * *

 

Your name is FEFERI PEIXES, and you are 10 sweeps old. Tonight, you are supposed to be crowned Empress of the Alternian Empire. As the only current HEIR TO THE IMPERIAL THRONE, you never expected to live very long. Her Imperious Condescension had arranged the death of, or outright culled, all potential heirs during her reign. She simply hadn't gotten around to culling you yet.

Her sudden death appears to have rendered all your plans to TAKE THE THRONE irrelevant. You always wanted to make the Empire a more peaceful place. When you were younger you spent much time playing out fantasies where you had defeated the Condesce and become empress, proceeding to change the definition of “cull” from “exterminate” to “care for the unfit and infirm”. You, by this definition, culled quite a lot of the FAUNA OF THE DEEP, which in retrospect were probably not unfit or infirm but merely adorable.

Your trolltag is cuttlefishCuller and you )(ave a )(ard time not getting R-EALLY -EXCIT-ED ABOUT PRACTICALLY -EV-------ERYT)(ING!

Today is an exception to this, though. You are not excited, you are not happy, and you are certainly not relaxed. Instead, you are FREAKING TERRIFIED, and trying to keep your composure as you rehearse your coronation speech, quite aware that when you give it tonight, there does seem to be a decent chance you will drop dead like the Condesce did. This rehearsal is cut short when you hear a knock at the door.

The knock on the door was followed immediately by your moirail barging into your respiteblock.

"You're _rehearsing_ " he states, aghast. "Are you glubbing _insane_ , Fef?"

“Eridan, I thought you-”, you start, before he interrupts.

“Fef, you can’t go ahead with this, you’ll _die_." Eridan says the last word with a pained certainty. There is a sort of desperate fear in his eyes. You’ve never seen him like this, at least not since that time you almost split up with him.

Sighing, you put down the speech you’d typed up. He is a pain sometimes, but Eridan is still your palemate. He’s been true to you all these sweeps, he has at the very least earned an explanation. He is probably right, after all.

“You have to understand,” you begin, cautiously. “This isn’t aboat me, Eridan. I’ve thought about this. If I didn’t take the throne, all those bottomfeeders who worked directly for the Condesce would fight to the death over who got to rule, and they’d take the rest of the glubbing empire with them. I don’t want to die, but if I don’t risk this, the empire is sunk!”

Eridan stands there, leaning on the side of the doorway. Looking at the floor, he continues.

“Fef”, he starts, his voice more tremulous and wavy than usual, “Whoever culled the late empress, and the Grand Highblood, and all the rest of them will cull you before you can finish your speech. Tight security didn’t stop the scum, and whatever psychic power or black science was used to cull them clearly doesn’t need whoever did this to even be nearby. It’s hopeless. The coddamn filthy lowbloods are going to take over if this continues, and I don’t sea a way to stop it.”

You frown at this statement. “Eridan, I’ve told you before, our blood color doesn’t make us better than anyone. I’ve never seen any porpoise in the hemospectrum but to keep those who have power in power.” 

“I’m not up for debaiting it with you, Fef!”, he says, voice raised in over-dramatic frustration. “I know what I know, you can believe what you want. That isn’t the _point_. I always wanted you to take over one day, you know that betta than anyone! The point is, you will die if you do this, I’m sure of it! Don’t you value your life? Aren’t you the _least bit_ afraid?”

Eridan stops, and he stares at you, awaiting a response. You think you see violet tears welling up in his eyes. You’re not sure what to say, but you do your best.

“Of course I’m afraid, Eridan. I’d be craysea not to be. But this is the only chance I have to fix the empire. If I don’t accept the throne, it’s over. I don’t think I’m the best troll for the job, but I’m the only one that’s royalty. If I pass this by, civil war is likely. Do you actually think the empire could survive that many of its stockpiled doomsday devices being used against itself? Do you want that? This is a huge risk, but it is also a necessary one, Eridan. I’m sorry.”

Eridan looks at you, sullen and resigned. “I don’t really care aboat the Empire, Fef. I care aboat you.” And with that, he turns and leaves, closing the door behind him.

 

**Hours in the future, but not many...**

You've got five minutes left. In three hundred seconds, give or take a few, you'll walk out to the throneblock, give a speech, and seat yourself in that great golden chair. Assuming you live. 

Your guards, the apparent best of the best, have been looking around nervously. You've reassured them that if you die suddenly they won't be held as suspects and culled. At least, you told Eridan to try his best to make sure of that. 

Walking over to the window, you gaze out at the ocean floor. Somewhere back on Alternia, Gl'bgolyb slumbered. As your lusus, Gl'bgolyb was never much of a mentor or guardian; she had slumbered your whole life, and long before. She may have been the most powerful and dangerous Lusus on Alternia at some point, and might be again one day, but Gl'bgolyb had never done you much good. 

She whispered to you about this day, in vaguely-remembered dreams, when you were still  a young troll. The sopor slime kept most nightmares away, but it could hardly block a presence of his magnitude. There was a sense of dread and fear in these prophesies that you that had not made sense to you when you were young. You understand it, now. There was the fear of being culled, given the circumstances, but even that was overshadowed by a larger dread. The fear of not your own death, but of the havoc it would cause in galaxy, the wars that would come about in an Empire without an Empress.

"Your highness? One minute until your entrance," one of the guards informs you. 

Someone or something out there reely can cull trolls from across the vast distances of space. They could cull you, as well as whoever might try to take power over the Empire after you. It seems apparent to you, judging by their actions thus far, that they will not hesitate to cull anyone that they don't approve of. This leaves you with one option. You can only hope it works. 

“It is time, your highness. Follow me.” 

You move as though you are in a dream, walking to the gallows. You stop. The Alternian Imperial Throne is behind you, the cameras are in front of you. You think you can see Eridan in the crowd of spectators, but you aren’t sure it’s him. You pause for a moment, and you begin your speech.

"When I was young, I always hoped someday I would become Empress, and lead the Alternian Empire into a time of peace. My predecessor, while an able ruler, never had any shortage of conquests to lead and rebellions to put down. That was the Empire she ruled over. But her time is done."

"This last week has been a trying one. You've all all felt its repercussions. Our long-reigning Empress culled, along with the Grand Highblood, his Higher Council of Subjugglators, and over half of Her Imperious Condescension’s advisors. Their culler has, with his or her actions, presented us all with an ultimatum: live in fear, or perish." 

“I do knot believe this is some judgement from above, nor a conspiracy from the shadows. It seems to me that somewhere in the galaxy, a troll likely has developed a new sort of psychic power, to cull from across the vast distances of space. We may all be at their mercy. This troll's treasons are unforgivable, but alas, tracing psychic abilities to their user is quite impossible. I denounce the crimes of the culler- but I cannot stop them." 

At this, the crowd rapidly goes from respectful silence to concerned mutterings, and on to upset shouting and even jeering. You knew this would happen, of course. Admitting defeat to a ruthless traitor before you even sit on the throne would do your popularity no good. The seadweller elite, which constituted a good majority of the spectators, would hate you for it. They'd lost a large number of their own during the last week's psychic culling spree, and those who remained were, generally speaking, just as prideful as those who had perished. They raise an awful din, arguing amongst themselves, before you speak up once more. 

"The culler's goal appears to be rebellion, and this rebellion is as dangerous to trollkind as any since the Summoner's Revolt. They have seen injustices in our Empire, and feel they must destroy it, or force it to change by fear. I propose an alternative- instead of tearing down our civilization, we must build upon it. They seek to divide us: the poor against the rich, the weak against the powerful, the lowbloods against the seadwellers. I say we must stand together, we must _unite_ , and we must work together to build a better, kinder Empire. I, as your new Empress, urge you- we must knot live in fear, nor give in to hatred, but instead, learn to respect and understand each other. Thank you all."

You turn and walk to the throne, a weak wave of applause following you. As you sit on the throne, you smile faintly. Your blood pump may be racing, but at least it's still beating.


	6. The Culler

"It is better to be feared than pitied."

\- Troll Machiavelli

* * *

**Karkat: Cynically regard coronation.**

You watch the end the ceremony on your husktop. The new Empress, Feferi Peixes, has taken up the royal dual culling fork, and wears the gold tiara. As she sits upon the throne, it occurs to you that she couldn't be more than three or four sweeps older than you. She could hardly be more different from her predecessor. This young Empress appeared, bafflingly enough, to be more benevolent than malevolent. As far as you could tell, she wants the Empire to be a force for good in the galaxy. You're glad you didn't write her name. You could work with this.

On the other hand, she had denounced your cullings and downplayed how mind-bogglingly awful Her Imperious Condescension had been, but that was to be expected. The point is, the new Empress doesn't dare go after you, and might actually try to do some good on her own, assuming the other seadwellers don't pull some treacherous shit and depose her themselves. Still, if that happened, you'd just write their names down. If they actively opposed you, you could cull them. If anyone in power oppressed your fellow lowbloods, you could cull them. If any troll committed any evil deed and word of it reached the internet, you could end them, just like that. It was all so perfectly simple.

Of course, with all their resources and connections, the highbloods and seadwellers ought to notice the pattern, though they'd dare not speak it aloud. The evil, cruel, and corrupt were being culled, and they didn't want to be next. All you had to do was cull the worst of them consistently enough, and the rest would fall in line out of fear. Still, you have occasionally worried in the last week if you made the right choice to use the Cull Note. You can't quite pin down the source of these worries, though. The only trolls you've culled have been the evil and corrupt, after all.

You off the news stream and are about to put on some music ( _Young Alternians_ by Troll David Bowie) when you see that Kanaya is online on Trollian. You've not talked to her since the night you found the Cull Note. You double-click on her trolltag. After a moment of nervous hesitation, you begin to type.

carcinoGeneticist [CG] began trolling  grimAuxiliatrix [GA]

CG: HEY KANAYA.   
CG: SORRY I'VE BEEN BUSY LATELY. HOW HAVE YOU BEEN?   
GA: Hello Karkat   
GA: I Have Been Stressed   
GA: You Have Been Following The News I Assume   
CG: YEAH OF COURSE I'VE BEEN FOLLOWING THE NEWS.   
GA: Isnt It Horrible   
CG: ARE YOU KIDDING?   
CG: THE GODDAMN LUNATIC WHO RUNS THE EMPIRE DROPS DEAD OUT OF NOWHERE, ALONG WITH OVER HALF OF HER ASSISTANT TYRANTS, AND YOU THINK IT'S HORRIBLE?   
CG: IT'S FUCKING AMAZING.   
GA: No   
GA: Though I Was Never Precisely A Supporter Of Our Late Empress, And I Always Considered Her To Be   
GA: How Should I Say This   
GA: Somewhat Unhinged   
CG: DON'T FORGET DERANGED PSYCHOTIC TYRANNICAL EGOMANIACAL HATEFUL CRUEL AND OBSESSED WITH THAT INTENSELY IDIOTIC CLOWN RELIGION.   
GA: Yes Those As Well   
GA: But I Suppose Her Assassination And The Apparent Psychic Purge Of Her Most Prominent Supporters   
GA: While Likely Deserved   
CG: YOU AREN'T MAKING YOUR POINT VERY EFFECTIVELY HERE KANAYA.   
GA: If You Would Please Allow Me To Finish   
CG: WHATEVER, JUST FINISH SO I CAN MAKE MY DAMN REBUTTAL.   
GA: Karkat Please   
CG: FINE SHUTTING UP NOW.   
GA: To Cull Those So Powerful With Some Psychic Power From Afar Seems Impersonal And Cowardly   
GA: It Was Not A Fitting Way For Our Empress Of Well Over Three Hundred Sweeps To Perish   
CG: YEAH I DOUBT IT WAS PAINFUL ENOUGH.   
CG: THAT HAS NOTHING TO DO WITH MY POINT THOUGH.   
CG: MY POINT IS THAT THE CULLING OF THE HIGH GRAND BITCHQUEEN SUPREME AND HER UNDERSEA AND CLOWNY COHORTS OPENS THE DOOR FOR LESS PSYCHOTIC PEOPLE TO TAKE OVER.   
CG: EVEN IF THE ACT OF CULLING HER WAS EVIL, WHOEVER DID IT DID THE EMPIRE A FAVOR!   
CG: LONG LIVE EMPRESS FEFERI PEIXES, MAY SHE NOT SUCK NEARLY AS BADLY AS OUR OLD LEADERS, AND SO ON AND WHATEVER.   
GA: That Is An Interesting Perspective   
GA: Though I Rather Doubt The Intentions Of The Culler Are For Any Greater Good   
GA: I Doubt Any Troll Willing And Able To End So Many Lives So Easily Will Stop There   
CG: THE CULLER?

Another chat window pops up on Trollian, all white text on white background.

Yes, Mr. Vantas, that is what they have been calling you. I know you don't like the nickname, but it does fit.   
This last week, you've spent most your waking hours culling with the notebook and researching which trolls' lives deserve a swift end next.   
I'd say you appear to enjoy the culling, but I know for a fact you do, even if you won't admit it.

What an incredibly arrogant nooklicking shitslurper, you think. Even if this mysterious benefactor did get you the notebook, he's still quite clearly a pretentious prick. You guess you'd better ask him what the fuck his deal is before he vanishes from Trollian again.

CG: HELLO YOU ENIGMATIC ASSHOLE.   
As humorous as you ceaseless vulgarities may be at times, I'd prefer if you simply referred to me as Doc Scratch.   
CG: I DON'T EVEN GIVE HALF A SHIT ABOUT YOUR SPECTACULARLY WEIRD-ASS NAME.   
CG: I DOUBT IT'S YOUR REAL NAME ANYWAY.   
CG: REALLY, THREE LETTERS IN FIRST NAME, SEVEN IN LAST? WHAT SORT OF NAME IS THAT?   
CG: ANYWAY, YOU HAVE SOME FUCKING EXPLAINING TO DO, SCRATCH.   
To answer your first question, it is not my true name.   
CG: FIGURED.   
To answer your next question, I know so much about you because I am omniscient.   
In other words, I know so much about everybody, forever. With a couple of exceptions.   
Secondly, I gave you the notebook for several reasons. For example, you interest me.   
Finally, in regards to my "quirk", as you trolls put it, typing in white text is both fitting and amusing to me.   
CG: I DIDN'T ASK YOU THOSE QUESTIONS YET!   
You were about to, and those are answers to the next three questions you had planned on asking.   
CG: HOW THE HELL?   
I have already stated the answer to that. I am omniscient.   
CG: SO, YOU KNOW ABOUT GODDAMN NEAR EVERYTHING ABOUT EVERYTHING, AND YOU GAVE ME OF ALL TROLLS THE POWER TO CULL PRETTY MUCH ANYONE?   
Not quite.   
I, for instance, am not a troll. You do not know what I look like, either. You could not cull me.   
But that is largely irrelevant to this, seeing as I am effectively immortal.   
CG: OK, YOU KNOW WHAT, BEFORE YOU GET AHEAD OF YOURSELF, I'M CALLING BULLSHIT ON THIS CONVERSATION.   
CG: YOU CLAIM TO BE AN OMNISCIENT, IMMORTAL BEING THAT IS NOT A TROLL, MISTER SCRATCH.   
I am Doc Scratch, not Mister Scratch.   
CG: DON'T CARE, YOU LYING SLIMESTAIN!   
I do not lie.   
CG: THERE'S NO INTELLIGENT SPECIES LEFT BESIDES TROLLS, CONDY WIPED ALL THEM OUT IN HER INTRAGALACTIC CONQUEST SHITCRUSADE!   
CG: THERE ARE *NONE* LEFT!   
CG: SO, BY PROCESS OF ELIMINATION, YOU ARE A GODDAMN TROLL JUST LIKE EVERYONE ELSE!   
I am going to point out a couple of things to you, Karkat Vantas.   
I gave you the most subtly powerful weapon any troll has ever wielded.   
I did this of my own volition.   
Even if I was mortal and a troll, which I assure you is not the case, you do not have the ability to use it on me, as you don't have my true name, nor do you know my appearance.   
CG: YEAH, I KNOW, I CAN'T DO SHIT TO YOU. POINT MADE.   
Not yet, actually.   
Has it occurred what I could do to you if I grew tired of your hostility?   
I gave you the notebook, I could just take it away,   
CG: HOW?   
The same way I gave it to you. I would take it back via teleportation.   
CG: TELEPORTATION IS AS IMPOSSIBLE AS OMNISCIENCE AND IMMORTALITY!   
As impossible as a notebook that can end lives through what appears to be magic?   
Despite your continuing hostility, I have no interest in being your enemy.   
And though I am the one who gave you the notebook, I am not an ally. I will not use my nearly limitless knowledge and significant charisma to aid you in your endeavors.   
CG: SO WHY’D YOU GIVE ME THE NOTEBOOK IF YOU HAVE NO INTEREST IN BRINGING JUSTICE TO THE EMPIRE?   
To be frank, I have been bored.   
CG: YOU'VE BEEN BORED?   
CG: SO I'M SUPPOSED TO ENTERTAIN YOU, IS THAT THE GIST OF THE POINT YOU ARE TRYING TO MAKE?!   
You do so quite successfully, even when you are not trying to,   
Which is always.   
CG: ARE YOU ENTIRELY GODDAMN CERTAIN ABOUT THAT???   
CG: WHAT IF I JUST STOP THIS HERE?   
CG: I'VE ALREADY GOT A SEEMINGLY NON-DEMENTED TROLL ON THE THRONE!   
CG: CHANGE HAS BEEN SET IN MOTION, THE REIGN OF IDIOCY IS ENTIRELY FUCKING OVER!!!   
CG: SUPPOSE I JUST BURN THIS NOTEBOOK, SAY I'VE DONE ENOUGH, CANCEL THE KARKAT FIXES THE EMPIRE BY CULLING ASSHOLES SHOW?   
CG: WOULDN'T THAT BE BORING?!   
Haa haa.   
Really, you are quite amusing.   
You see, while I am not a gambling man, I am reasonably certain that if I was, I would't bet against Empress Peixes facing a military coup should you stop using the notebook.   
She is a young and inexperienced moderate, surrounded by reactionaries. If they didn't fear The Culler's power, I doubt she'd last half a month.   
CG: I DON'T REALLY GIVE SO MUCH AS ONE THIRD OF A FUCK ABOUT HER IN PARTICULAR, BUT SHE'S GOT POWER, AND WITHOUT HER I DON'T DOUBT SOMEONE SPECTACULARLY WORSE WOULD HAVE IT INSTEAD.   
CG: BUT I SUPPOSE YOU'RE RIGHT, I DO HAVE TO KEEP GOING. IT NEEDS TO BE DONE.   
You don't have to.   
You could give up the notebook, I suppose.   
Your memories of having used the Cull Note would be erased, and you would probably be culled roughly a sweep from now, when you reached adulthood.   
But you were right about one thing. That would be boring.   
Fortunately, it is not what will actually happen.   
CG: SO YOU KNOW HOW THIS ALL IS GOING TO GO?   
Yes. To me, and in fact everyone, the future has already happened. Time is not as much a stream as a crystal.   
The difference between us being I know its shape.   
CG: THANKS FOR LETTING ME KNOW EVERYTHING IS FUCKING PREDESTINED AND MY CHOICES ARE MEANINGLESS BECAUSE THEY HAVE BEEN CHOSEN FOR ME!   
CG: I NEEDED THAT EXTRA EXISTENTIAL QUANDARY SHIT ON TOP OF ALL THIS, REALLY.   
You misunderstand. The choices may be determined in advance, but it is still you who will make them.   
CG: WELL FANTASTIC, LET'S THROW A GODDAMN PARTY. YOU CAN BRING A CAKE WITH "FREE WILL IS TOTALLY STILL A THING" WRITTEN IN VANILLA FROSTING!   
CG: I'LL INVITE MY ONE FRIEND, AND ALSO YOU.   
That sounds entertaining.   
CG: ARE YOU UNABLE TO COMPREHEND SARCASM???   
Hee hee.   
I know you were being sarcastic.   
I was simply stating that I would in all likelihood enjoy that if it ever did happen, which it won't.   
Speaking of your one friend, Kanaya has been messaging you repeatedly while we talked.   
You put her trollian chat in the background, your sound was muted, and you completely forgot about her.   
If I wasn't omniscient, I would likely be surprised you messed that up.   
CG: FUCK!!!

**Karkat: Respond to Kanaya.**

You cannot respond to Kanaya because she is already offline. You slam your fist on your desk, swearing violently and repeatedly, in a fit of fury directed squarely at your own useless fucking failure of a self. The one troll you care about, and you blew her off to rant at this so-called "Doc Scratch"!

After calming down somewhat, you read the messages from her you missed.

GA: That Is What Many Trolls Have Been Calling Him Or Her   
GA: The Culler Is Obviously Hated And Feared By Nearly All Of The High Blooded And Powerful   
GA: As Well As Many In The Criminal Elements Of Society Since Many Of The Most Notorious And Dangerous Of Them Have Also Died Inexplicably This Last Week   
GA: But Among Many Lowbloods Particularly Online He Or She Has Attained What Could Be Practically Described As A Fan Club   
GA: Perhaps Even A Cult In The Style Of Historical Rebellion Of The Signless   
GA: In Any Case, It Is Concerning To Me That So Many Would Be Willing To Follow One Who Culled So Many Important Trolls With So Little Hesitation   
GA: Particularly When Nothing Else Is Known About Him Or Her   
GA: To Summarize I Do Not Approve Of The Cullers Actions   
GA: And With The Power To Cull Anyone He Or She Is More Dangerous Than Her Imperious Condescension Ever Was   
GA: Karkat Are You There   
GA: Usually You Would Have Made Some Colorful Retort By Now   
GA: But I Suppose You Have Gone To Do Something Else Now   
GA: Presumably Starting A Flame War On The Comments Section Of A GrubTube Video Or Some Other Similar Endeavor   
GA: I Suppose We Can Talk Later When You Can Spare The Time   
GA: Goodbye

grimAuxiliatrix [GA] ceased trolling  carcinoGeneticist [CG]

 

If you felt like an asshole before, which you did, you now feel even worse.

Out of the two primary emotions, hate and pity, Kanaya is the only troll you’ve interacted with that you didn’t hate at all. Friendship may be a sort of platonic pity, but your pity for her is stronger than that.

You used to think you were pale for her, but lately you’ve been less sure. You could be flushed for her, though you know that would be entirely futile. At this point you almost wish you were still convinced you were an expert in romance, like when you were younger. Then maybe you could make up your fucking mind.

As you wallow in self-hatred and the futility of red romance with someone you’re sure you’ll never meet, a trollian chat window you’d minimized to respond to Kanaya pops back up to the front of the screen.

Mr. Vantas, you ought to realize by now that the Cull Note’s rules can be utilized creatively.   
Such ingenuity with the Cull Note could help in getting you off of Alternia alive eventually.   
I will contact you again when I feel like it.

You stop and reread this twice, before grabbing the mysterious notebook from your list to read the rules further, looking for ways to exploit them. Perhaps, you think, it’s not totally futile after all.


	7. Justice

"In matters of truth and justice, there is no difference between large and small problems, for issues concerning the treatment of trolls are all the same."

\- Neophyte Redglare

* * *

 

Your name is ARADIA MEGIDO.

You are roughly NINE AND A THIRD SWEEPS OLD, and a DETECTIVE. This is a position in law enforcement that is a bit like being a Legislacerator, but less so. You never really were very interested in a life of fighting crime when you were young, but you have KEEN EYE FOR DETAILS, so you wound up being picked for this job by the Imperial Selection Drones. It's a bit like the magic sorting hat in that kids’ fantasy series, except it is for careers, and being a legion of robots instead of a single old hat, and they are authorized to neutralize trolls with extreme prejudice if they are deemed unworthy. Thankfully, for the sake of this analogy being stopped before it spirals further out of control, Harry Potter is not a thing in your universe. There is no Troll J.K. Rowling, apparently.

You developed your attention to detail as an AMATEUR ARCHAEOLOGIST on Alternia in your youth, analyzing ancient ruins and such. This was your primary interest for a significant portion of your younger years, and you use a whip as your weapon of choice as a law enforcer mainly because of your enjoyment or Troll Indiana Jones films, which, interestingly enough, are a thing. You have a very small degree of psychic ability in the form of telekinesis, but you're not very good at it.

Your trolltag is apocalypseArisen and there is typically a pr0n0unced h0ll0wness in y0ur t0ne 0f v0ice and v0cabulary that y0u can’t quite explain

You are unusual in that, while you have RUST-RED BLOOD, the lowest caste blood color on the hemospectrum, you are still ALIVE and in a POSITION WITH SOME MINOR DEGREE OF AUTHORITY, even if it is mostly only over criminals.

Even more surprisingly, you were hand-picked by an up-and-coming Legislacerator to work on her team. Nearly all you know of her is from what you've observed in the three cases you've worked for her so far. She doesn't go out and investigate crimes herself, but brings together teams - your team for certain, but there could be others - to act as her eyes and ears, bring her information digitally which she proceeds to analyze from afar. Neither you, nor anyone else on the team to your knowledge, has actually met her.

She refers to herself as T, but her trolltag is gallowsCalibrator and she SP34KS W1TH TH3 NUM3R4LS TH3 BL1ND PROPH3TS ONC3 US3D. Whatever that means. You think she may have made that bit up, since you've never heard of any blind prophets in your study of archaeology or history. She seems pretty strange, even for a Legislacerator, yet is also clearly an investigative genius.

The other two members of your team are:

SOLLUX CAPTOR, an introverted, moody, reformed hacker who was tracked down and recruited to help solve your first case working for T. He is extremely skilled at coding and hacking, and happens to be an equally exceptional psychic, even for a gold-blood. He has the unusual, possibly unique passive psychic ability to hear hear voices of the soon-to-be deceased, and occasionally complains that they won't shut the fuck up. You and he have recently began a flushed relationship. His trolltag is twinArmageddons and he tends two 2peak wiith a biit of a lii2p. He denies having tried hacking into the Legislacerator training databases to try and learn more about who T is, but he told you he'll probably try to eventually, if only for the challenge of it.

EQUIUS ZAHHAK, an extremely muscular, kinda creepy blue-blood who, despite his STRONG views in favor of the hemospectrum system, seems to be rather flushed for you. Having been rejected as a potential Archeradicator for being so strong he kept breaking his bows, Equius is basically the muscle for the team. However, he’s not dumb, as demonstrated by his exceptional skill with robotics. His trolltag is centaursTesticle and he tends to D --> Take e%ception to 100d language unbefitting of b100 b100ds

But enough about them. Now, what will you do?

 

**Aradia: Converse**

 

You are staying at a cheap hotel on the planet Tarvinia, waiting for a message from T on your next case. It is a temperate world, with a yellow sun, meaning it is possible to be out in the day hours without being blinded. Still, most trolls don't go out in the Tarvinian daylight, even if it is far safer than bring under the Alternian sun unprotected. But the sun is setting, and you and your matesprit are up early.

Sollux is sitting on the other side of the block. His husktop is open, and he's looking through news feeds, muttering curses under his breath.

"What're you reading about on there?", you ask, already knowing the answer.

"The latetht and motht exthiting in theadweller politicth," he replies with more than a hint of sarcasm, not turning his head away from the screen.

"It's interesting, watching them try to put a positive spin on most of the worst of them dropping dead, isn't it?"

"It'th fucking hilariouth ith what what it ith, AA. But interethting works too, I gueth." He stretches his scrawny body and yawns. "It is way too damn early at night for me to be up."

"We do have jobs that we are required to be awake for."

Sollux grumbles something to himself, then closes his laptop, picks it up, and stands, turning to face you. He looks at you though his blue and red tinted glasses, and says, "Thith whole fucking meth with all thethe important highbloodth and criminalth dying. What'th your take on it?"

"They all died quickly and inexplicably. Not a coincidence, but then, I don't see where an investigation could start. So far as I've heard, there's nothing to go on in terms of evidence. They all just dropped dead. It was probably all done by someone with a new type of psychic power, and you know those are effectively impossible to trace to their source."

"Of courthe I know that. Anything leth thubtle pthychically than my fucking eye latherth can't be trathed properly, meaning if you can't thee it, you can't follow it. But here'th the thing. According to effectively all rethearch about pthychic abilitieth ever, it'd probably be impothible for even Gl'bgolyb itthelf, the motht powerful pthychic thing there ith, to pull thomething like thith off."

You're skeptical about this claim, but he seems certain. "I thought I'd heard Gl'bgolyb has enough psychic power to kill all life in the galaxy if it used all its psychic power at once?"

"That'th jutht it, AA- the Elder Luthuth could probably blatht all life in the galaxy if it felt like it, but it'th not thubtle, it'th not precithe. There'th ruleth to thith thit. I may be able to uthe telekinethith, but I couldn't thtop thomeone'th blood pump in their chetht like what happened to all thothe fuckerth. It would take a lot of finethe. The more pthychic power you have, the leth thubtley. It'th inverthe. And you'd need a thtaggering degree of both to cull multiple trollth all acroth the galaxy with thome new pthychic power. Point being, it'th tho inthane that it'd be thtupid to conthider it ath pothible, except how elthe do you explain the deathth?"

Both your phones suddenly buzz at the same time. Upon inspection, you each have one new text message.

Your phones buzz again. TH3R3S 4 CR1M1N4L ON T4RV1N14 1V3 W4NT3D TO BR1NG JUST1C3 TO FOR SOM3 T1M3

Then Equius enters your hotel block. He appears have forgotten the door was locked, but his great strength bursts the door open anyway. He looks around sheepishly upon realizing he broke the lock, and breaks into a sweat. A short, awkward silence follows.

All three of your phones buzz. The text reads SO W3 H4V3 4 N3W C4S3! W3 4RE GO1NG TO 4PPR3H3ND TH3 SP1D3R

Another text message follows immediately after. 4ND YOUD B3ST F1X TH4T LOCK 3QU1US OR 1LL M4K3 YOU P4Y TH3 HOT3L 3XTR4 FOR R3P41RS

After Equius finishes repairing the lock, the three of you depart in his fancy blue hovervehicle, towards Taravi, to await further instruction. The skyscrapers of Taravi, the most populated city on Tarvinia, reach high into the sky, the slums of the city dig deep into the ground, and the outskirts of the city stretch far into the distance. It is an interesting place, but then again, so are most cities. Interesting may be too nice a way of phrasing it, though.

Equius is driving the vehicle, and Sollux is in the side front seat. You sit in the back, as Equius's hovervehicle flies between the countless towers of Taravi. Eventually, after you finally manage to tune out Equius’s excited ramblings about the various fine arts of illustrated and sculpted musclebeasts, your phone buzzes. T's number is on the caller ID, but it keeps buzzing- it's not a text message, but an actual call. She's never called before. You answer the phone with a cautious "Hello?"

An unfamiliar but cheery female voice replies, "Hello Aradia! You have weathered the prosecution and have been judged to be worthy! I must say, I am impressed!"

"Uh," you reply, unsure what to say.

"Oh? Uhhhhh?", she responds in a mocking, exaggerated tone, then bursts out into enthusiastic laughter, before continuing. "You are a bit boring, but totally deserving of your rank and position. You've got significant talent, I must confess. Anyway, could put me on speakerphone? I'd like to talk to the boys as well!"

"I suppose so," you say. As you press the button to put it into speakerphone mode, Sollux turns towards you from his seat. "Who were you thpeaking to, AA?" he asks you, apparently trying to make conversation with someone besides Equius. Equius is currently going on about the "outrageous, tragic and brazen" theft of a classic painting of a musclebeast fighting a football player from a museum on Tarvina. Unfortunately he seems to have missed the fact that Sollux doesn't care and seems to be desperately attempting to ignore him.

"Greetings! This is T, giving you your further instructions!"

Equius shuts up about musclebeast paintings, slams the brakes and looks back at you. Sollux just facepalms.

"You are to head back to the hotel you left and meet me in block 413! Sorry about sending you away for a bit, had to make sure I looked presentable. I’m a bit of a wreck that early at night."

She hangs up, leaving an awkward silence in her wake.

“Wathn’t that block right acroth from ourth, AA?”, Sollux asks, clearly exasperated, to the point where his lisp is acting up more than usual.

You put your phone away as Equius turns the hovervehicle around. “Yes, it was. And here I thought she had tapped our blocks.”

Equius accelerates his vehicle somewhat. “It would appear we were being stalked by our employer instead. How utterly creepy.”

“You do not get to talk about creepy, EQ!”, Sollux snaps. “You rambled to me about nude mucthlebeatht art for the latht fucking half hour, and don’t think have I haven’t noticed you acting all fluthed around AA!”

You frown at your matesprit’s ranting. You’d been hoping to politely but firmly turn down Equius’s advances next time he tried to woo you. Then again, you can’t blame Sollux for being irate.

Equius squeezes the steering wheel, practically crumpling it in his hands. “I-,” he begins, and stops. For a second, there is just the hum of the engine. He then asks, slowly and carefully “And how do you feel about this, Aradia?”

“I already have a matesprit, remember, Equius?”

“Then it’th thettled, EQ. I’m in the fluthed quadrant with AA, you aren’t. That fucking thimple.”

You sigh, and Equius continues to drive. He’s clearly upset, but he doesn't say anything for most of the rest of the drive back to the hotel. At one point Equius mutters “Nep is going to be furious I messed up her ship,” but you have no idea what he means by this. While it only takes a half hour to get back to the hotel, it feels like longer.

Soon enough you are standing in front of the door to block 413. You knock, and the door opens.

 

T is standing there, grinning a toothy grin. She’s surprisingly young, about your age by all appearances. Her form is lean and angular, and she is wearing heavily red-tinted glasses and leaning on a cane. You’d be shocked if there wasn’t a blade hidden in it.

"Why hello, team!”, she says. “Come right on in!"

You enter. The block is neatly furnished, with two chairs and a lounge frame spread around a small glass table with a husktop and a bowl of cherries on it. There's a potted plant by the side of the block, and a window in the back. As you walk to the table, you see that the block's kitchen is a mess, with several donuts lying out next to what appears to be a large bottle of red food dye.

You take a seat on the lounge frame, with Sollux at your side. The two of you hold hands. You’re quite sure Equius noticed this, as he is sweating somewhat as he takes a seat across from you. He avoids eye contact with you, apparently trying to hide his frustration, if somewhat feebly. Equius may be a creep and an elitist, but you still feel some degree of platonic pity for him; he’s incredibly strong, and quite skilled, but he’s terribly bad at interacting with other trolls.

Still, you concede that Equius is, despite your misgivings, not a bad troll. He flushed crush on you seems sincere, though you obviously don’t reciprocate it at all. He has previously mentioned he has a moirail, which took you by surprise when he first brought it up. He seems to adore her, and despite his repeated claims of highblood superiority, her blood color, while still higher-ranking than yours by far, is allegedly only dark green. You can’t recall her name.

T shuts to door to the block and takes the remaining chair. She sits straight up, her posture almost regal. “So,” she begins, “I suppose you probably would to know why I’ve chosen to reveal myself to you now. I am, after all, a notoriously private troll.”

Sollux replies sarcastically, “I hadn’t notithed.”

“Attempting to conceal your observations with a lie will do you no good, Mister Captor! Particularly when your lie stinks of sarcasm!"

Sollux scowls, but you interrupt before he can throw another retort at your employer. "T, sarcasm is saying one thing while making it clear you mean another, so I'm not sure it actually counts as a lie."

T shrugs. "That is semantics, the point is... hmm. We're getting off track, aren't we?"

Equius nods. “Yes, we are. So why have you chosen to meet us in person now? Does this have to do with our next case?”

“How perceptive of you, Detective Zahhak! There is a criminal who I want to bring down, and bring down myself. Well, more than one, actually. But this one’s at the top of my list, and I want her behind bars before the Culler can do her in. She goes by the alias The Spider. She’s robbed banks and museums, stolen numerous spaceships, and culled quite a few trolls in the process. I knew her, back on Alternia. Her real name is Vriska Serket, and she’s the most dangerous troll I’ve ever met. She’s the Spider, I’m sure of it. I think she has another troll working alongside her as well. When we were younger, she coerced this other troll into psychically controlling my lusus, who was then forced into making me to stare into the Alternian sun, blinding me. His name is Tavros Nitram, and a troll matching his description has been spotted helping the Spider in her heists, though she is obviously the mastermind of them, not him.”

At this point she takes off her red sunglasses. Her eyes are pure red. She really can’t see.

You all gape at T for a couple more seconds. This is a totally shocking revelation that surprises everyone.

“Wait,” Sollux says. “How the fuck are you blind? You’re a Legithlatherator. How the fuck did you manage to get that career that if you’re blind?”

Equius immediately scolds Sollux for his cursing, but everyone ignores him.

T then answers Sollux’s question. “I’m good at it, that’s how. In fact, I have a plan to lure her out of hiding already. To do so, I need to get involved more directly myself, so I had to meet you all personally for it.”

“I will confront her directly. And I’ll need your help in particular for this, Aradia.”


	8. Gamble

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So you may notice that it says this is an update, but this is not a new chapter. 
> 
> This is because I wrote another chapter, and realized it should go between chapter 3 and what was chapter 4.
> 
> So the new chapter, Miracles, which is a Gamzee POV chapter, is now chapter four, and everything after has been moved up.
> 
> Sorry for the confusion!

"A troll is not finished when she is defeated. She is finished when she quits."  
\- Marquise Spinneret Mindfang

* * *

Your name is VRISKA SERKET and you are a CRIMINAL. You rob banks, museums, and just about anywhere else that has valuables. You're really not in it for the loot though. You are in it for the THRILL. After all, the life of a criminal in the Alternian Empire is a dangerous one. You wouldn't have it any other way. Those buffoons in the media who report your myriad of crimes have dubbed you THE SPIDER, because you leave a calling card with the image of a spider at the scenes of your crimes; at least, at the crimes you want the authorities to know were yours.

You employ numerous strategies to bring these otherwise long odds more in your favor. You are talented at MISDIRECTION and are a SKILLED LIAR, yes, but they're not what make you so EXCEPTIONALLY DANGEROUS. Plenty of trolls are good at deception, after all. There are two things you have that make you far more dangerous than most trolls.

The first of these is the MAGIC CUE BALL, an ancient artifact of dubious origin and questionable purpose once owned by your ancestor, Marquise Spinneret Mindfang. It knows everything has or will ever happen in the universe, but its answers are obscured from the naked eye, as it has no glass section to view the answers through. It would take some kind of Seer to glean knowledge from the omniscient white sphere. Or perhaps someone with VISION EIGHTFOLD. Like you, for instance.

Some things you have learned from the sphere recently include:

1 - Your former FLARP partner, now a Legislacerator, is on Tarvinia and is planning on challenging you to a duel. She thinks she can win, hilariously enough. She leads a small team of investigators, including a hacker with significant psychic power, a calm and rational detective with considerable talent, and a skilled fighter who is also notable for his skill in robotics.  
2 - The moirail of the moderate-minded young Empress, Feferi Peixes, is a fervent hemospectrum elitist named Eridan Ampora. He has long harbored a flushed crush on Peixes, and is violently protective of her. He probably would not take rejection from her well.  
3 - The Culler is not a psychic at all, but instead a cynical, angry kid with a notebook of immeasurable magic power. His name is Karkat Vantas, and you have every intention of tormenting him, then taking the culling notebook from him and ending his life. After you deal with the duel, he's next on your list.

You don't ever ask the Magic Cue Ball about the future. It is never wrong, and you're not quite that reckless.

The second reason you are so dangerous is your PSYCHIC MIND CONTROL ability. You make damned sure the authorities don't know you can do that. Many of your schemes and heists involve mind control at some point or another, and you don't want them to take preventative measures. After all, while this is a rare ability, it's not completely unheard of, and it is only really effective on lowbloods, particularly ones with significant insecurities.

Your trolltag is arachnidsGrip and your st8ments tend to 8e just a little 8it overdramaaaaaaaatic.

Oh, and speaking of INSECURE LOWBLOODS, your MATESPRIT is currently trying to get your attention from the other side of your lair. He's a total loser, but he's kinda adorable. You made him jump off a cliff and paralyzed him once, but that was ages ago. His name is TAVROS NITRAM, and he rides a cholerbear now, when he's not in his two-wheel device. He's got a sort of PSYCHIC ANIMAL CONTROL ability himself, and he's pretty good with animals even without using it. He wanted to be a Cavalreaper when he was young, but you kinda dragged him into your life of crime.

His trolltag is adiosToreador and he uHH, sPEAKS IN A SORT OF, uHH, fALTERING MANNER,

Anyway, you'd better go see what Tavros wants to talk about.

As you stand, Tavros starts rolling himself over towards you in his two-wheel device. You meet in the middle of the lair.

"Uh," he begins, "You have, well, a message on, um, trollian."

"Hahahahahahahaha! You're imagining things again, Toreasnore. Like when you thought fairies were real! How could I have possibly gotten a message? I think I’d have noticed!"

You pull out your cellular telecommunication device and show it to him. Zero new trollian messages.

"Yeah, fairies are, um, fake," Tavros replies, in a manner that makes it sound like he's not entirely convinced yet, "but, you see, I just got a message, on my account, for, well, you."

"Ohhhhhhhh?" you say, in a manner that is not overdramatic, but instead the precisely correct amount of dramatic. He shows you his cellular telecommunication device. Onscreen is short conversation between your minion/matesprit and the blind legislacerator. You had figured she’d be contacting you soon.

  
gallowsCalibrator [GC] started trolling adiosToreador [AT]

  
GC: H3LLO T4VROS N1TR4M!  
GC: R3M3MB3R M3?  
AT: uHH, sHOULD I?  
AT: bECAUSE, iF I AM SUPPOSED TO,  
AT: wELL, I DON’T, sORRY, }:(  
GC: T3LL VR1SK4 TO UNBLOCK M3  
GC: 1 N33D TO T4LK TO H3R  
GC: SH3LL R3M3MB3R M3, 4T L34ST  
GC: 1 H4V3 4 PROPOS4L FOR H3R

  
gallowsCalibrator [GC] ceased trolling adiosToreador [AT]

  
You grin, take out your cellular telecommunication device, and prepare to talk to the young Legislacerator. This should be interesting, even though you already know what she wants. She, as you knew her sweeps back, was many things. Boring wasn’t one of them.

  
arachnidsGrip [AG] has unblocked gallowsCalibrator [GC]

  
AG: Hey!!!!!!!!  
AG: I'm surprised to see you are still alive!  
AG: The imperial drones rarely allow the 8lind to live into adulthood, after all. :::;)  
GC: VR1SK4  
GC: 1TS B33N 4 LONG T1M3  
AG: Oh yes, it's 8een faaaaaaaar too long.  
GC: 1 WOULDNT GO TH4T F4R  
GC: 1NST34D 1 WOULD S4Y 1T H4S B33N 3X4CTLY TH3 R1GHT 4MOUNT OF T1M3  
GC: 4 R3M4TCH 1S 1N ORD3R  
AG: Oh????????  
AG: You informing me of your revenge 8efore you even attempt it?  
AG: How 8old!  
GC: NOT R3V3NG3  
GC: TH4T WOULD 1MPLY TH1S 1S P3RSON4L FOR M3  
AG: Of course it is! Our FLARPing cahoots ended on my terms, with you staring into the Alternian sun!  
AG: How could a rematch 8e anything 8ut revenge????????  
GC: S1MPL3  
GC: 1 4M 4 L3G1SL4C3R4TOR. 1 S33K JUST1C3, 4ND YOU 4R3 QU1T3 TH3 CR1M1N4L, SP1D3R  
AG: So you haaaaaaaave 8een paying attention to me.  
GC: 1F YOU 4ND T4VROS N1TR4M M33T M3 AND MY S3COND 1N TH3 PURPL3 BOX W4R3HOUS3, BY TH3 W4T3RFRONT 34ST OF T4R4V1, 4T N1GHTF4LL TOMORROW, W3 W1LL H4V3 4 DU3L  
AG: Hahahahahahahaha! Wow! A duel! What are the terms, Neophyte?  
GC: TH4T 1S TO B3 D3C1D3D BY OUR S3CONDS  
GC: D1D 1 4SSUM3 CORR3CTLY TH4T YOU W1LL B3 S3L3CT1NG T4VROS TO B3 YOURS?  
AG: 8ut of course! He may be a loser, but he's not a fool.  
AG: He’s really improved in the whole not-8eing-totally-useless department!!!!!!!!  
GC: SUCH H1GH PR41S3  
GC: DO YOU 4CC3PT MY CH4LL4NG3?  
AG: And hoooooooow do I know you won't have a whole squad of enforcers at the warehouse w8ing to am8ush me?  
GC: 1 W1LL DU3L F41RLY  
GC: YOU KNOW WH4T MY WORD 1S WORTH  
GC: 4ND 1 KNOW WH4T YOURS 1S WORTH 4S W3LL  
AG: I'll 8e there, then.  
AG: Don't worry, I won't cheat.  
AG: I won't need to. :::;)

  
arachnidsGrip [AG] has ceased trolling  gallowsCalibrator [GC]

  
You are going to cheat, of course.

It’s not that you need to, obviously. You could totally take that skinny blind weirdo in a fight any night of the week, you’re sure of it. It’s more on principle, really. You’ve lied and cheated your whole life, and you’re not gonna stop for her sake. The real question is: how?

When you and her were the notorious FLARP duo, the “Scourge Sisters”, you always tried to keep your trumps cards hidden from her. You manipulated trolls, lying to them, leading them unaware to their graves. Often a psychic “nudge” was required for your enemies to fall into your traps. Sometimes you had “inside info” on opposing FLARP teams, as provided by the Magic Cue Ball. But you didn’t let her in on your secrets, and you made a point of not letting her figure them out.

The point being, you still have your trump cards, and it’s not like you plan on letting her live anyway, so you might as well make use of them.

So you consult the Magic Cue Ball, and it tells you exactly what you wanted to hear. Her second is the rustblood Detective, Aradia Megido. A good shot with a pistol. Skilled with a whip. And most importantly, totally susceptible to mind control.

It's almost daybreak by now, and you'll have to get some sleep soon if you're to be there, awake and rested, by nightfall.

You cuddle up next to Tavros in the recuperacoon you share. He dozes off before you do, and mumbles in his sleep. Eventually you lose consciousness as well. You dream of your lusus, demanding to be fed. You dream of those whose lives you have ended. Doubts and regrets bubble to the surface. Briefly, in the dream, you wonder if things could have been different somehow.

A bit before nightfall, you wake. Tavros is up already, and he smiles at you. It looks almost sincere. The memory of the dream fades, and is gone.

As you enter your hovervehicle, Tavros starts fidgeting, nervously tapping his fingers along the side of his two-wheel device. That's your matesprit for you. Oh well. You've tried to toughen him up in the past, but it never really seems to work.

The area seems largely abandoned by trolls. You only see a couple trolls as you approach the warehouse, and they all seem to be living in poverty. The warehouse come into sight soon enough. It is an old metal rectangle, a bland and rusted building. You park the hovervehicle by it and approach the entrance.

You enter through the wide metal gate, Tavros wheeling himself in behind you. Just as the Magic Cue Ball had said, the Legislacerator and the detective are there. The warehouse is empty, except for the four of you, and a small, ornate box on the floor in the center of the room. Your old acquaintance is grinning. As far as you can tell, she is unarmed. Aradia, on the other hand, is quite clearly armed with a pistol.

"Helloooooooo Terezi!", you begin, in greetings to your old FLARP partner. She immediately stops grinning, and the detective looks over at her as if seeking an explanation. You know what this is about already, but you feign having just now figured it out.

"Terezi Pyrope. By the look on your second's face, you'd think she didn't know your name previously! Have you been working under a fake name? An alias perhaps? Wow, you really must be paranoid!"

"I prefer the term 'cautious'," She mutters. "Really, I just want to get this duel over with and bring you into custody. My next case is going to be far more interesting than dealing with you."

"Oh? Petty insults aside, what could be so much more interesting that a showdown like this after so many sweeps?"

She's grinning again. Her response actually manages to catch you off guard.

"I'm going to catch the Culler."

You want to laugh at her. You want gloat about how you already have the answer to that riddle. You want to tell her that he's some ornery little shit on Alternia; a self-hating loser who is so far in over his head it's almost funny.

You don't say anything. Instead you merely smirk.

Aradia seems to be trying to put on a stoic face. She's doing a pretty good job of it, considering her boss just announced plans to go after someone who, as far as they know, can cull anyone anywhere with total impunity. She is afraid though, you can tell.

"Aradia," Terezi says, "please announce our proposed terms for this duel."

The detective steps forward. "The duel between the Legislacerator T and the criminal Vriska Serket will be a duel of blades. The swords are in the box in the center of the room. Vriska is to be given first choice of which of the identical blades to use. The participants duel until either party is culled, or otherwise clearly defeated to the winner's satisfaction. So long as there is no foul play, Tavros Nitram will be free to go, should Vriska lose the duel. Are these terms acceptable?"

You nod your head, and Tavros replies "Yeah, I, um, think so."

Terezi points at the box in the center of the room with her cane. "Take your blade and then back up five paces."

You walk over to the box. The Magic Cue Ball had told you Terezi was not planning on cheating, so you don't have to worry. You quickly pick up the rapier, and back up five steps, as requested. It seems like an easy enough blade to wield, and you've got plenty of experience. Not that it really matters. You can hardly wait, but an ideal victory is a reward gained from patience. There’ll be plenty of time to gloat when it’s over, before you finish her.

Terezi takes her blade, then tosses her cane to the side of the warehouse. She backs up and twirls the sword a couple times before pointing it in your direction.

You ready your blade in front of you, and Aradia counts down from three. You can’t help but smile.

When she says go, you immediately mind-control her, forcing the detective to point her gun right at her boss’s back.

And then you make her pull the trigger.

There is a distinct lack of a gunshot, and Terezi charges forward. You barely manage to defend yourself from her blade.

Her swordstrollship is remarkable. You can barely believe she's blind. It seems her smellovision or whatever the fuck it's called is good enough that she can match you in this duel. She's just as fast as you are, and apparently about as skilled.

This is bad, obviously.

The gun in Aradia's hand isn't going off. You make her pull the trigger, again, with the same damn result. You need to focus all you've got on winning this swordfight, so you release your control on her. You parry another thrust from Terezi. You don't have time to be on the defensive, but you are.

Tavros is starting to panic, asking you what he should do. You're a bit too busy to respond. Aradia has pulled out a telecommunication device. You hear the engine of a large vehicle landing behind you, outside the warehouse.

It's at this point you realize you are probably not getting out of here as a free troll. They know you tried to cheat; somehow, Terezi knew your plan. For a moment, you consider running for it. You might be able to get away, but that would be an admission of defeat. Besides, you don't want to leave Tavros to fend for himself. They'll take him in, and they'll break him to pieces.

No. You won't let that happen. You will not be defeated, not here, not now, and certainly not by her.

You parry strike after strike, until you think you see an opening. With a snarl, you lunge forward, going for the kill.

She dodges to the side, and, moving altogether too quickly, punches you in face.

You fall to the ground, letting out a cry that is more surprise than pain. Terezi stomps down on your wrist, and your blade hand goes limp in a flash of agony. You scream, and you know now that you've lost.

Seven robots march out of the just-landed hovervehicle. Two of them stop in front of Tavros, who is trying to slip away unnoticed on his two wheel device. A third one cuffs him.

The rest of them are surrounding you. Terezi steps away as the robots close in around you.

"Vriska, I've read the history books." She says. "I know how Neophyte Redglare died, how your Ancestor culled her. Mind control. Did you think I didn't know you could do that? I figured it out sweeps ago. I just needed to make sure there was one obvious way to cheat, and make sure it wouldn't actually work."

You're seeing spades.

The robots pick you up and cuff you. They drag you into the large hovervehicle parked over the bay. A vessel this size might be spaceworthy, you realize. Tavros and you are locked in the brig, separate cells. You wonder where you are headed.

You have been defeated, but you're not going to quit. This is not the end of your story. You won't let it be.


	9. Messiah

"If the time of death is written within 40 seconds after writing the cause of death as a heart attack, the time of death can be manipulated, and the time can go into effect within 40 seconds after writing the name."

"The conditions for death will not be realized unless it is physically possible for that troll or it is reasonably assumed to be carried out by that troll."

"One page taken from the Cull Note, or even a fragment of the page, contains the full effects of the note."

\- Rules number 6, 7, and 8 of the Cull Note

* * *

 

**Karkat: Dream**

You wander through a desert. There was a terrible battle here. You can smell the corpses burning. It's a cruel and vulgar stench. There is a flag, ripped and torn, atop a dune.

The world shifts, and you see a troll in burning chains. They have broken his body and his pride. He screams something you cannot hear. An arrow flies, and bright red blood spills over the sand.

The blood pools and shines and in the reflective surface you see faces, people, memories that you do not recognise. A devoted disciple hanging on to every word of a story, a caring lusus in the shape of an adult troll. You dip your finger in the blood, swirling it around, confusing and distorting the memories.

Lifting your claw out of the pool you see the blood on your hand is your own, bleeding out of chafed and burnt wrists. You know they are coming to get you so you run. You run across the dunes until they turn into grassy hills, until you reach a fork in the road you didn’t realise you were walking on.

The two paths lead in opposite directions, one to the burning chains you know you are fated for, one to a shining throne you know you must reach. They are still following you, chasing you, hunting you down. You kneel down on the brick path and begin to draw symbols, sigils, letters on the ground in an attempt to ward them off.

As you write the brick becomes paper, your blood turns to ink and name after name appear on the page. You don’t look up as you hear them close in on you, and by the time you realise that one of them has you, the ground has already fallen out from under your feet.

There is a sharp force around your neck and you sit up in your recuperacoon, breathing heavily, taking in air that your dream had denied you of. Groggily, you remove yourself from the sopor slime. You wonder what the fuck was with that weird-ass dream. At least this means you managed to get some fucking sleep for once.

**====== >**

You meander over to the restblock in your hive and soak in the ablution trap. The water is warm and relaxing, but not quite relaxing enough to make you feel remotely close to good about yourself. Cutting off the Empire’s head hasn’t fixed the rot in its core. You may have got the aristocracy running scared, but it’s not enough. There are still the everyday brutalities that the oppressed must endure, and you can’t cull all of those who commit them. There are simply too many douchebags out there to make an example of every single one.

Actually, there’s an idea; make an example out of them. If you can’t Cull Note all those who deserve it, cull enough of them that those remaining will be afraid to commit further crimes against the oppressed, for fear they could be next to die. And you’ve got plenty of time to write. This is practically a full-time commitment by now. It’s a big Empire, after all.

You dry off and get dressed in your respiteblock. Then, you start to boot up your husktop and open the notebook, taking a seat at your desk. You’ve got five pages full already.

At the start, you were mostly culling the powerful, cruel and corrupt. The first page of your notebook is filled with the names of the largely sadistic seadweller nobility. Then you got to work ending the leaders of the ridiculously fucking stupid but nonetheless vastly dangerous and hateful Cult of the Mirthful Messiahs. You wiped out the top three levels of their church this last week, and if anyone tries to take over after them, you’ll cull them too. Fucking clowns and their inane false gods can all rot, so far as you are concerned.

Now, you’ve mostly been writing in names from places online where trolls who support you have been reporting incidents of unjust cullings. There are plenty of highbloods who have been taking out their anger over your actions on those they have power over, foolishly thinking they can keep it quiet. Should someone report them online, you look up what the dumb shits look like via the internet, and cull them, one moronic asshat at a time. You’ve also been ending other particularly disgusting piles of filth who catch your eye, but there’s really so many unjust cullings and abuses of power that you don’t have time to cull trolls for more minor offenses.

When your husktop is fully booted up, you open up the major news sites to browse first. You don’t expect them to be reporting any such crimes of oppression, as the only options are the Imperial News Network, or sites privately operated by wealthy douchebags who clearly have a pro-imperial bias. You’ll probably get around to wiping them out at some point, you figure.

As you browse through headlines, you notice many of them are obituaries for those you’ve culled. They were all scum so far as you could tell, but they get referred to here as “Distinguished and Honorable Nobility”. Yeah, such repulsive bullshit. You didn’t cull anyone who didn’t fucking deserve it.

At the bottom of the page, you see a link. “Subjugglator Training Vessel Missing in Mirthless Mutiny,” it reads. You click the link, and read. It’s pretty fucking interesting; a highblooded subjugglator trainee leading unsanctioned cahoots against the Empire. Most of the crew was culled, but there are a few hostages. Apparently this whole fiasco just leaked publically, after higher-ups failed to cover it up over the last couple days.

You read the names of the victims, the hostages, and the mutineers. Then, you have an idea.

You quickly grab a pen, hovering it in the air just above the page as you mentally compose the death of your next victim. The death that would bring you into contact with what could be the first of your allies. You glance up at the report again, affixing a name and a face in your mind, then begin to write.

_Cendri Rakari, Bloodpump failure_

_Dies after screaming for attention from his captors then biting the veins on his wrist open and writing the following message on the wall with his blood. ‘I THINK WE NEED TO TALK. cruelGuardian’_

You stare at the latest death sentence for a few seconds, bloodpump racing despite you having done nothing more than writing a few words on a page. Then you throw the pen back on the desk and reach over to you husktop. Minimizing your browser, you make the alternate account on Trollian that you named in the message. You encrypt it through some proxy servers, and give it a font color you think will fit.

You quickly get bored of just sitting and waiting so you bring the websites back up and start on your task of culling the unjust and unworthy. The names seem to flow from your pen and onto the page, their deaths assured as soon as you have written them. You become so caught up in your task, your mission, that it takes a minute or two for you to notice that a small purple dot is contacting you.

terminallyCapricious [TC] began trolling  cruelGuardian [CG]

TC: iS tHiS wHo I mOtHeRfUcKiNg ThInK iT iS?  
TC: wait a second, quirk feels all wrong.  
TC: MY OLD QUIRK FELT ALL KINDS OF MESSED THE MOTHERFUCK UP.  
TC: weird. all better now though. :o)  
CG: I AM HERE TO ANNOUNCE THAT YOU HAVE BEEN NOTICED.   
CG: YOUR VIOLENT AND MUTINOUS ACTIONS AGAINST THE CREW OF BEGOTTEN ARE A WELL-PLACED SPIT IN THE FACE OF THE EMPIRE.  
CG: I LIKE THAT.  
TC: SLOW DOWN.  
TC: didn’t answer my motherfucking question there.  
TC: ARE YOU  
TC: god? :o)

 

You stare at the message for a second. This wasn’t quite how you expected this to go. You think you’d best play along and see where this goes.

 

CG: YES THAT’S EXACTLY CORRECT. YOU’VE FIGURED OUT THE WHOLE THING.  
CG: THAT’S ME. I’M GOD. THE ACTUAL MESSIAH.  
TC: WOAH.   
TC: totally motherfucking called it.

 

Well, fuck. He actually believes that. This could get annoying.

 

CG: WHAT DO THEY DO TO YOUR FUCKING THINKPANS UP THERE? LIQUIFY THEM AND USE THE RESULTING OOZE AS OINKBEAST SLOP?  
TC: SURE FEELS THAT WAY.  
TC: they spoil our think pans with music and words and motherfucking  
TC: BLASPHEMOUS  
TC: thoughts about bogus messiahs.  
TC: BUT I WOULDN’T LISTEN.  
TC: because i saw the truth.  
TC: I SAW THE MOTHER FUCKING TRUTH.  
TC: and the truth is you.  
TC: YOU ARE THE TRUE GOD, THE ONLY MESSIAH, COME TO RAIN HOLY PUNISHMENT DOWN ON THE DISBELIEVERS,  
TC: the undeservers,  
TC: THE MOTHER FUCKING UNWORTHY.  
TC: until this empire is cleansed.  
TC: OF THE ROT AND FILTH THAT GROW WITHIN.  
TC: that think they can rule and get away with whatever they like.  
TC: BUT NO MORE.  
TC: because of you. :o)

 

You are slightly stunned by this, you didn’t expect to find any followers so soon, never mind one that believed you were a god. The insult had been an automatic deflection, sent before your thinkpan could process what was happening, but it seems like your new ally didn’t mind or even notice the jab. You make a mental note not to overestimate his intelligence.

 

CG: THAT’S THE AIM.  
CG: TO RID THE EMPIRE OF THOSE WHO CULL UNJUSTLY, TAKE WHAT THEY DON’T NEED OR OTHERWISE GO AGAINST WHAT OUR SOCIETY *SHOULD* BE ABOUT.  
CG: THE QUESTION IS:  
CG: ARE YOU GOING TO HELP ME?  
TC: YES.  
TC: oh motherfuck  
TC: YES.  
TC: i am yours to command god.  
TC: WE WILL RID THE WORLDS OF THE SCUM  
TC: and the motherfuckers who do not  
TC: RESPECT  
TC: your word as the new law.  
CG: GOOD.  
CG: FOR NOW: DON’T GET CAUGHT. THERE’LL BE A FUCKTON OF SHIPS COMING AFTER YOU SO UNLESS YOU HAVE THE WEAPONS TO BLOW HALF THE IMPERIAL NAVY TO ATOMS I’D ADVISE YOU TO STAY LOW.  
TC: AS YOU WISH.  
TC: but i’ll spread the word.  
TC: I CAN’T BE THE ONLY MOTHERFUCKER THAT SEES THE BOGUS MESSIAHS FOR WHAT THEY REALLY ARE.  
TC: i’ll spread your word and the  
TC: FEAR  
TC: of the one true god.  
TC: GET THE MOTHER FUCKING MESSAGE OUT THERE.  
TC: see if i can’t get a few more motherfuckers on your side. :o)  
CG: NICE TO SEE *SOMEONE* OUT THERE TAKING SOME INITIATIVE.  
TC: HONK :o)  
CG: ANYWAY. DON’T CONTACT ME AGAIN UNLESS IT’S AN EMERGENCY.  
CG: IF I NEED ANYTHING I’LL MESSAGE YOU.

 

cruelGuardian [CG] ceased trolling terminallyCapricious [TC]

 

You lean back, breathing heavily. This could be easier than you thought. He may be a crazy ex-clown worshipper who thinks you’re god but he’s stolen an imperial ship so he’s a powerful crazy ex-clown worshipper. Who thinks. You’re. God.

_God..._

You could get used to that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you may have noticed, this story is now co-authored by Kyky25. She's really good at writing, and she wrote about half of this chapter.


	10. Strength

"A musclebeast! A musclebeast! My kingdom for a musclebeast!"

\- Troll Richard III

* * *

 

You are now EQUIUS ZAHHAK, and you are in the common area of T's spacecraft, drinking some milk out of a metal cup. You can see Aradia and Sollux sitting at opposite ends of a small table at the other end of the room, silently playing what appears to be an intense game of chess. You're not paying enough attention to see who is winning.

As you finishing your cup of milk, the door to the common area behind you slams open. This startles you to the degree that you wind up crushing the now-empty cup in your fist. You put the wrecked cup down on the table as gently as you can manage, and turn to see T in the open doorway, looking more frustrated than you've seen her before. She sits down next to you, and lets out a long, exasperated sigh, looking down at the table. Sollux lets out a curse from the other end of the room, stands up, and walks over towards yourself and T, followed by Aradia.

"Ugh. AA ith way too good at cheth, it'th totally ridiculouth! I'm supposed the be the damn geniuth around here."

You look back and forth between the two of them. Aradia beat Sollux at chess? You knew the lovely young rustblood girl was remarkably talented, but this still comes as a surprise to you. You'd expect Sollux to be the best at that sort of game.

"There's more than one kind of genius, Sollux. You're far better with technology than I have ever been."

"Well, yeah. That'th obviouth. Theriouthly though, how the fuck did you beat me like that?"

Aradia looks thoughtful for a moment, and replies with a confident smile. "Your tactics were quite solid, but it was reasonably clear you didn't have a lot of strategy beyond just trying to take my pieces."

T raises her head and says "The Culler has the same problem." This draws an odd look from everyone in the room, yourself included.

"I think it's reasonably clear that the Culler is not a god or otherwise supernatural entity," she continues. "What sort of god smites and does exactly nothing else? It's a troll who is doing this, somehow. And that troll's agenda isn't entirely clear yet."

You speak up. "While it is reasonable to exclude the the possibility that The Culler is some omnipotent deity, how do we know it is a troll, and not some other being we do not know of? After all, no troll has ever been reported to have a type of psychic power this precise and formidable."

"The Culler's crimes have mostly been against political officials and nobility, along with the leadership of the Mirthful Church. These crimes are meant not just to end the lives of countless trolls, but also to make a statement. These are the crimes of someone with a clear grudge against the Empire, so naturally it is probably a troll. When I said that The Culler's agenda isn't totally clear, I mean I can't deduce his or her endgame, or what precisely they mean to personally gain from their appalling crimes. The Culler's motivation, on the other claw, is clearly political; strongly opposed to the Imperial power structure, and against the Hemospectrum. While I don't entirely disagree with this perspective, the idea of culling one's way to a better society is a dangerous sort of madness that cannot be allowed to spread."

You scowl. It seems that the order of the Hemospectrum is not well-respected among your peers. Even T does not support it! You grimace at the thought before quickly rearranging your features into your more usual look of blank-faced regality. While not as high-blooded as you, her blood is teal, and therefore far better than the rest of the the team. While talented, they are such… peasants. Truly degenerate, especially the lovely Ms Megido. She is really amazing, to have earned a place as an officer of the law, despite her rust-colored blood. It is shameful that you were unable to woo her, you cannot believe she has chosen the hacker over yourself. It would be best not to dwell on it, you think.

T shakes her head. "Anyway, that's my initial analysis. I've got several ideas to narrow down where the Culler is, but I'm going to need to think on it more."

Sollux yawns, and asks, "What about the prithonerth? You dethided what to do with thoth fuckerth yet?"

T frowns. "I had figured that I could get most of the info on where Vriska kept all her stolen wealth by interrogating Tavros, but it turns out he doesn't even know where hardly any of it is hidden. Either she doesn't trust him, or she figured he'd get caught eventually and talk. I just came here after escorting him back to his cell."

"Are you sure he was not lying?" you ask. "Lowbloods often break easier under advanced interrogation."

T sighs. "I don't need to torture him, Equius. Tavros Nitram really doesn't know anything useful. He wasn't lying, I'm sure of it. As for Vriska; I know her, she's got so much pride she'd not talk to us under any sort of pressure. There's no point in even bothering. I'm going to go back to my respiteblock and think for a while. Surely there's something useful I can get out of these prisoners."

She leaves the common area, and soon enough Sollux and Aradia are playing chess again. You suspect you are feeling as frustrated as T, though not due to the pointlessness of interrogating a prisoner who knows nothing useful. You look over at Aradia - she appears to be winning at chess again. That lovely lowblood detective, she stole your heart away without even trying, and refuses to return it, nor pay it any mind. With all your STRONGNESS, you still cannot crush your feelings for her.

Your mobile telecommunication device vibrates in your pocket. Your moirail appears to be trying to reach you.

Hopefully she can cheer you up.

 

arsenicCatnip [AC]  began trolling centaursTesticle [CT]

AC: :33 *ac prepares to pounce ct*  
CT: D --> Good evening  
AC: :33 *ac leaps towards ct claws outstretched*  
CT: D --> I have no desire to partake in this nonsensical game  
CT: D --> While at some times I may make an e%ception  
CT: D --> This is not one of those times  
AC: :33 *ac growls with furstration*  
AC: :33 rawrgh!  
AC: :33 i just wanted to give you a big hug!  
CT: D --> Whether you e%pected to give me a hug is irrelevant  
CT: D --> You still must wait another half sweep before you leave Alternia  
CT: D --> You have my permission to hug me then  
AC: :33 its good to know i have purrmission!  
AC: :33 but half a sw33p is soooo long, and i dont know how well manage m33t up once im out there in the big old galaxy :((  
CT: D --> I will find a way to make it happen, do not fret  
CT: D --> My confidence in that is STRONG  
CT: D --> However I wish to discuss something else with you  
AC: :33 *ac excitedly wags her tail in anticipurrtion*  
CT: D --> E%citement is not the correct emotion  
CT: D --> The lovely rustb100d and that degenerate foul-mouthed hacker have entered into a flushed relationship  
AC: :33 :((  
AC: :33 the nerve! sinking my ships and stealing the troll of your dreams from you!  
CT: D --> Yes, it is e%tremely frustrating  
CT: D --> He, unlike Aradia, is moody, vulgar, arrogant, and a bit of a t001  
CT: D --> He mocks and disregards the hemospectrum openly  
CT: D --> I really do not like him at all  
AC: :33 *ac strokes her whiskers, pondering*  
AC: :33 but you are flushed for aradia  
AC: :33 whos even lower on the hemeowspectrum than he is  
CT: D --> Well yes  
CT: D --> But she is a lovely troll  
CT: D --> Quite the anomaly among those of her blood  
CT: D --> She is not vulgar, rude, or otherwise unpleasant  
CT: D --> In fact her manner is almost regal  
CT: D --> It is 100di% that she is of a hue so low  
AC: :33 *ac raises an eyebrow*  
AC: :33 purrhaps you shouldnt take the hemeowspectrum so literally  
AC: :33 maybe then she would like to be your matespurrit more!  
CT: D --> Do not be f001ish  
CT: D --> If I did not adhere to the laws of b100d then not just my own life but the whole team w001d go to wreck and ruin  
CT: D --> Which is e%actly why I must be the voice of reason  
AC: :33 ugh!  
AC: :33 i know that its impurrtant but following the hemeowspectrum like a woolbeast cant be your whole life  
CT: D --> Yes it can  
AC: :33 no it cant  
CT: D --> Yes  
AC: :33 no  
CT: D --> Yes  
AC: :33 no  
CT: D --> Yes  
AC: :33 no  
CT: D --> Yes  
AC: XOO no!  
AC: XOO you cant just blindly follow a stupid set of rules without thinking about them just beclaws some idiot with purple blood told you to!  
AC: XOO you cant just judge efuryone you m33t on their blood color alone!  
CT: D --> Nepeta  
CT: D --> What you are saying here c001d be considered treason  
CT: D --> I order you to stop  
AC: XOO no  
CT: D --> Yes  
AC: XOO no  
CT: D --> Yes  
AC: XOO enough!  
CT: D --> Nepeta as much as I respe%t your judgement as my moirail I urge you to think about what you have been saying  
CT: D --> As much as I w001d like to stand by my personal beliefs I am also saying this to prote%t you  
CT: D --> Now I must trot off  
CT: D --> Among other things required of me I must also find a towel  
AC: :33 ugh fine  
AC: :33 but dont think youre getting out off this f33lings jam furever buster!  
AC: :33 <>  
CT: D --> Very well  
CT: D --> <>

centaursTesticle [CT]  ceased trolling arsenicCatnip [AC]

 

**====== >**

 

Heading to your respiteblock, your mind seethes. You care for Nepeta greatly. She is your lifeline in the galaxy, the one you care about the most. If only she would see reason, understand that the Mother Grub and the Empire has a place for all trolls. The Hemospectrum has worked well the common good for sweeps untold. Without it, if anyone could choose to do whatever they wished, the Empire would cease to function, and all would be lost. You've tried explaining this to your moirail before, of course, but she does not listen. You are concerned it may be the fact that she is a mid-blood that gives her a rebellious streak. But then again, your moirail is more vocally opposed to the Hemospectrum than rustblooded Aradia is.

As you enter your block, you quickly grab your towel, and wipe your face off. All these disagreements have done little but make you sweaty and frustrated. Sometimes you feel like you are surrounded by anarchists, rebels, and fools. You know this is not true, of course - you have no reason to doubt T or her loyalty to the Empire, despite her casual dismissal of the Hemospectrum's order. Besides, she is superior in rank, if not in blood. Aradia Megido is a troll of loyalty and integrity, despite her low hatching. Nepeta you cannot help but trust, despite your differences. Sollux Captor, though…

You do not like Sollux Captor. He is vulgar, sarcastic, and openly critical of not just the Hemospectrum, but of the Empire as a whole. It would not be so bad if he was merely critical of the seadweller nobility, as the animosity between land and sea is normal, and part of the way of the Empire. But his disdain is for the entirety of the order of society. He used to be a criminal himself, even! It was only T's decision that he could be useful that saved him from the gallows as a hacker.

Putting your towel down, you look at yourself in your mirror. Your dark glasses are cracked from when you put them on earlier this evening, and your face is somewhat less sweaty than before. Reaching out, you lightly move your claw across the reflection of your face in the mirror. Unfortunately, what for you is "lightly", most would considered crushingly STRONG. The surface of the mirror cracks ever so slightly across the reflection your face, and you pull your claw back. That was clearly a bad idea, in retrospect. Oh well.

You turn and leave your respiteblock, trying to put your frustrations out of mind. When you arrive in the common area once more, you see Sollux sitting across from the chess set, looking bored. He looks up as you enter the room, peering at you through his red and blue shaded spectacles, and smiles a cocky grin.

"Hey, EQ. Up for a game?"

"A game? If you are referring to playing chess, then no, I have better ways to spend my time than by fooling around playing trivial games with lowbloods," you reply, trying to keep the sneer out of your voice and failing.

"Well, that'th a thame, here I wath looking to fucking win for onthe."

"Do not curse at me, lowblood."

"That curthing wathn't direcated at you. But you know, how about thith; I'll stop curthng in your presenthe if you can beat me at cheth."

"I do not need to bargain with you. I command you to stop."

"Or _fucking_  what? You gonna take your anger out on me, uthe your 'great thtrongness' to beat me to a literal bloody pulp? What do you think AA would think of that?"

You know the answer to this question. If you cull Sollux Captor, Aradia would not so much as speak to you ever again. You may be well within your rights as a highblood to end a disrespectful lowblood, but it would make a wreck of Aradia. She would hate you, and you have no interest in her for that quadrant. Besides, T would be angry, and you don't want to make an enemy of your boss.

"Fine", you say. "A game of chess it is."

 

**====== >**

 

14 moves in, you've lost. Sollux is wearing a gleeful smirk, and you very much want to smash it in. However, you do not. You must remain calm and composed. You don't want to wind up thoughtlessly cruel like so many seadwellers. It is counterproductive.

Finally, you manage to say "This game is poorly designed."

"It'th thtood the tetht of time well enough. Been around for a thouthand thweeps or thomething."

"The musclebeast pieces are clearly underpowered compared to their their true strongness."

Sollux attempts to stifle a laugh, poorly. "Ith that why you lotht tho fucking badly?"

"You have no right to speak to me that way, lowblood."

Sollux sighs, and takes off his glasses. He look right at you with those mismatched eyes. "EQ. It'th pathetic, watching you pompouthly claim you don't like me due to the fucking hemothpectrum. You're fluthed for my matethprit and she's ath lowblooded ath trollth even get. Why can't you jutht admit that the hemothpectrum ith meaningleth? You don't like me due to me being an athhole who ith in the quadrant you want to be in with AA. That'th all there ith to it."

You are starting to sweat again. You start to speak, but in your frustration, you change your mind. Your dignity has been assaulted enough, you think.

Turning, you walk away. You have no interest in enduring more of Sollux Captor. He mutters yet another curse at you as you do so; you pretend not to hear it.

It would be bad form to bother T about the insolent lowblood while she is pondering what to do with the prisoners. Discussing these issues with Aradia or even Nepeta would likely be of no use; Aradia would not appreciate complaints about her matesprit, and Nepeta would pressure you to change your views, to abandon the system. She cares… but she is misguided.

Really, what you want to do is escape. You wish you could take the shuttle and fly away into the void. But you would be remiss of your duties if you did. You are a highblood, and it would not be proper of you to quit, to leave this all behind you. You must be STRONG.

You wind your way through the ship, in the direction of the brig. Your heavy footfalls reverberate and echo off the metal corridors, turning one set of feet into a legion. Mind spinning and whirling, attempting to process and bring order to your conflicting emotions, you jab a finger at the keypad that will open the brig door. On the third number the supposedly strong plastic interface shatters under your rough treatment and your claw goes straight through the panel. You quickly stifle an unbecoming yelp as a burst of electricity crackles up your arm before quickly redrawing the finger and inspecting the damage to the keypad.

"Oh, fiddlesticks," you curse under your breath.

The whole panel has broken into sharp shards with a rounded hole replacing the number five key where your finger had gone through. You breathe a heavy sigh and trek back several metres along the corridor to the nearest order interface and delivery chute. Quickly, and carefully, keying in the items you need you wait only a few seconds before a hiss of air announces that they had arrived in the pneumatic delivery system.

Picking up the bundle of tools and parts you walk back to the broken keypad and begin the task of fixing it. However many sweeps it has been since you had the chance to work on anything mechanical you still haven't lost your touch. You work at a gentle pace, letting letting your mind go nearly blank as you try to focus on the electronic device. Your breathing slows to a calming rhythm of in and out, in and out. By the time your work is complete you feel a lot more relaxed than earlier.

You return the tools and the broken parts of the panel to the delivery chute, letting the ship's systems sort them out, then go to key in the code a second time. The door slides open without incident revealing another corridor, this one just too brightly lit to be comfortable. Three-walled rooms branch out from the hallway, two on each side. Both end cells are occupied, however; a slight shimmering in the air the only indicator that the electro-barrier was activated.

Walking to the end of the short corridor you check on the prisoners. Nitram is curled up in one corner of the near-empty cell, forehead resting on his knees and arms wrapped around his legs, obviously asleep. Slight brown stains can be seen marring his cheeks, remnants of where tears had dried during his nap. You curl up your nose at the pathetic sight and shy away from his room slightly, heading to the opposite one instead.

Serket was leaning against a side wall of her cell, arms crossed over her body, the smirk on her face doubling in size once you turn to look at her.

"Soooooooo…" she drawls. "I was wondering how long it would be before you got your blue butt down here. Come to sneer at the underlings, have you?"

"I assure you, I have merely come down to check on the prisoners," you reply curtly, already feeling a bit riled up by Serket's accusations. "It is part of my job to make sure that all prisoners are in a fit condition to face the justice they deserve and as the others are...busy...I have taken it upon myself to make sure that you and the rustblood are adequately provided for.

"Ohhhhhhhh, they didn't want you up there so you came down here to hide from them, is that it?"

"That is most certainly not 'it'! I have explained my reasons for visiting and I do not need a criminal like you jumping to false conclusions about my actions. Good day!" And with that you whirl around and begin to stomp out of the brig, your quelled anger returning.

"I'm right though, aren't I?"

You pause, finger held just above the keypad, ready to type in the numbers that would open the door but not quite able to do so. Her voice had seemed so quiet, so sincere, so...empathetic. You turn slowly and look at the Cerulean-blood again. She is now standing just behind the electro-barrier, leaning as close as she can get without being shocked, looking at you with something verging on pity in her eyes.

"They don't want you up there because you don't act like them, right?" she continues as you slowly walk closer. "You don't think like them, you don't get along with them. The only reason they keep you around is because you're high enough to get past barriers the rest of them can't and strong enough to do the same thing. They don't appreciate you for what you can do, don't listen to what you have to say."

By now you're standing right in front of her, staring straight into her mismatched eyes. Only a small gap of shimmering air separates you. She smirks slightly, the mischievous spark in her eyes burning through the empathy and you are enraptured with the blue of her irises, a blue so close to yours.

"But what if there was a way for you to change all that?" she asks finally and the thought that drifts through your thinkpan is immediately quashed by the certainty that things will turn out as they should. The thought that you are in way over your head.

It occurs to you first that it's like she's reading your mind. The next thing that occurs to you is that she is a psychic, and actually might be doing so. Your expression returns to a scowl, and you ask "You had best not be using any of your psychic trickery on me, Spider."

She lets out a long laugh at this, then holds up her claws in mock resignation. "Hate to disappoint you, Zahhak, but I'm not reading your mind. Most highbloods are  _entirely_  immune to my psychic manipulations, yourself included. Sadly."

"Then how do you know my name?" 

"I had a veeeeeeeery reliable source of information on Tarvinia. You didn't think I'd go in for a duel with her completely unprepared, did you?"

You scoff at this. "You clearly were not prepared enough."

A regretful and frustrated look flashes briefly across her face. "Well, no. I'd not accounted for everything. But I did learn a great deal about you and your little team. Except it's not yours at all, is it?"

She's smiling now, a broad, confident smirk at odds with her position as prisoner. "Your superior officer is several shades your inferior by blood, and you are of equal rank in her team with a bunch of lowbloods. Do you know whyyyyyyyy that is?"

You try and keep yourself calm, but you are beginning to sweat again. Her words are eating away at you. It's clear she knows what buttons to push, yet you cannot bring yourself to turn away.

"Because you are a fool, Equius Zahhak. You think this galaxy needs order, which is reasonable. A lot of trolls think that. I don't, but I'm a modern-day Gamblignant of sorts; so  _of course_  I lean towards the chaotic side of that particular spectrum. The difference between yourself, and those rare unfortunate creatures, the trolls who are  _actually sensible_ , is that you think this order of things- the hemospectrum, the Empire, and so on- is reasonable and fair, when in fact it is merely stupid."

Your anger spikes, and you don't quite have get handle on it before you retort. "I have better things to do than listening to the insults and ramblings of a prisoner. You make it sound as if you would actually  _support_  the Culler." you say, practically spitting the words at her.

Vriska yawns, seemingly unintimidated. With her left claw, she pulls a set of blue dice out of her pocket, and begins to fiddle with them. You notice her right wrist is still bandaged from where T stomped on it during the duel. "The Culler? That idiot? I don't support him. I'd muuuuuuuuch rather he support me."

"What in the name of the Empress do you mean? You do realize the Culler has targeted criminals and outlaws in his cullings as well, correct?"

"So?" She shrugs, turning her back to you and stepping away from the barrier. "It doesn't mean he's anywhere near good enough to get me, the stupid wiggler. But anyway, he's not the one we're talking about."

There's a pause as she glances over her shoulder at you, then in less time than it takes to blink she's staring you in the eyes again, face only millimeters away. You instinctively rear back in shock, then attempt to hide the movement by clearing your throat and stepping a bit away from the electro-barrier.

"We're talking about you," she finishes. Her eyes gleam mischievously, mouth twitching up into a fang-ridden grin. There are slight sizzles and sparks as stray hairs drift into the electrified force-field blocking her from escaping.

"You're talking about me," you mutter while averting your eyes from her stare, trying to get a hold on this conversation again. "I was under the impression egomaniacs like you were supposed to go on about themselves."

"That's not a bad idea!" she beams. "Wellllllll, you probably know I'm somewhat of on old rival of your employer. I've culled 87 trolls in my criminal career - and hey, confession! Bet Pyrope didn't see that coming! Most of them were pussies who had it coming, but some were just in the way, y'know? Wrong place and wroooooooong time. It happens! Just the other week, when I stole some stupid musclebeast sports painting thing, I culled a lowblood security guard who was on his way out. Unavoidable, he would've seen me and I could've been  _caught_!" She gasps in mock horror.

"Enough!" you bellow, then hesitate. "Wait, it was you that stole 'The Noble Game'?"

"Well, duh! How many other attractive female gambligants and master-thieves do you know? I couldn't bring myself to leave my calling card for that one, since the work was so, well,  _ugly_. I burned it. Took it as a public service, that painting was  _dreadful_! Was a fun heist, though."

You sputter, feeling the released rage from earlier building up again.

"You WHAT!?"

"Burned it. Into iiiiiiiitty-bitty tiny ashes.."

"That...you...it….THAT PAINTING WAS A MASTERPIECE!"

"You care more about that stupid painting than that guard I culled, I see. What a shock."

You curl your lip, baring your teeth in anger at Serket. How could you, for a  _second_ , believe she had a modicum of compassion in the shriveled up  _thing_  she called a blood-pusher?

"You care about Aradia though, don't you? You do realize she can't stand you, right?"

And then the budding red-hot rage freezes and turns to ice in your veins. Your expression must have shown this because her next taunts cut you to the bone.

"Ohhhhhhhh! I guess she didn't tell you that. She is _ever_ so polite."

Small drops of blue begin to bead on the palms of your claws where your claws had cut into the flesh. You stare resolutely at the floor, shoulders around your ears, as she continues.

"None of them can stand you really, I said that before. Not the know-it-all piss-blood, not your dear, sweet Aradia, and certainly not your employer, the blind bitch - she thinks _quite_  highly of the infamous Signless, by the way; not a cultist, but a bit of a secret fangirl. She's sure done her history homework!"

You stay perfectly motionless, other than a slight ear-twitch at the mention of the heretic.

"You didn't know that, did you? Betcha didn't know about the silver chain she wears around her neck, either. You don't know a lot of things, do you Zahhak? I don't even know why they keep someone as worthless as you on the payroll. Oh yeah! That's right, you're here to keep the prisoners company, aren't you?"

There is a low growl reverberating around the brig, it takes several seconds for your sluggish thinkpan to realize it's coming from you. Swallowing does nothing to quieten it. You attempt to reply, but words are refusing to form as they should.

"I...don't...think-"

"No. You don't, do you?" Her words are harsh, sharp and even with all your STRONGNESS you are useless against them. "You're just a mindless grunt, like your robots. Doing whatever you get told to do like a good little public servant. You're pathetic." She spits out the last words like acid.

With a roar you raise your fists and throw yourself at her, not thinking about the barrier until too late. With a shower of electric sparks and thousands of bolts of  _ouch_  arcing through your system you rebound and curl up on yourself. The pain has finally broken through to your rage-damaged thinkpan and you know what you have to do.

Three quick steps later you are in front of the control panel for the brig, something approaching an evil grin covering your face. Thoughts whirling around you head you do not hear the series of quiet taps coming from the cell behind you. Mashing your fist at the panel you hear a keening whine as it shatters, and the barrier falls.

You lunge at her, aiming to make her  _end_.

She moves with remarkable speed, and there is a flash of cerulean in her left claw.

_"Fuck you."_

She slices at your neck with it, and suddenly the only thing you can do is fall.

You look up at her from the indigo puddle. Vriska Serket quickly picks up her dice, and the cerulean knife vanishes from her claw. You hear the other cell barrier deactivate, and wheels turning as she rolls her snoring partner out of the brig.

Your last thoughts are of Nepeta as you bleed out on the floor.

 


	11. Pages

“Build a hive?" exclaimed Jhonen.

"For the Wenndi," said Kurlie.

"For Wenndi?" Jhonen said, aghast. "Why, she is only a girl!"

"That," explained Kurlie, "is why we are her servants.”

― Troll J.M. Barrie, Pupa Pan

* * *

 

Your name is TAVROS NITRAM, and you are dreaming.

You are aware of this fact, if only dimly. You have to keep thoughts like that in the back of your thinkpan, hidden away where you keep all the painful things. You deal with enough of that when you’re awake. Now is a time for sleep and dreams and freedom.

You’re back in Neverland and the sun has just set, leaving a warm, pink glow on the horizon. The stars twinkle and flash and laugh and you laugh with them. It’s a beautiful night and you’re going to enjoy it.

You perch on the very edge of the cliff at the southern end of your island, looking down at the ocean crashing against the rocks below. A deep breath of salty air and a grin later you leap off the edge and begin the fall down, down, down.

The breeze turns into a gale as the wind rushes past your head but you just laugh as the water looms. You fling your arms out and miss the waves by inches, twisting upwards into flight. The wind exhilarates you, and your grin grows wider than ever.

Time is hazy on your island but the glow in the sky never fades as you zoom from one place to another. Darting around trees, skimming the waves, dancing between stars, you relax. You breathe freely. There are no chains to bind you here, no one you must obey.

You are happy; and your happiness is what makes you soar.

Hovering above your island, the breezes holding you knocking some nearby seagulls off course, you look down as if at a map on your land of treasure and adventure. Then an echoing boom reverberates across the water and a shockwave sends you tumbling.

You catch yourself quickly and look around, searching your map for the source of the disturbance, quickly spotting the ship on the horizon. There is a crashing sound from below as a large tree had been knocked over, splinters from the shattered trunk causing their own destruction.

With a frown you whizz towards the ship, zipping low and fast along the ocean until your back is pressed flat against the blue-tinged boards of the ship. The ship flying a black flag.

You nimbly fly up and perch in the rigging, peering down at the gambligants below. The smell of gunpowder smoke drifts past and you know what caused the noise and the destruction of your forest as soon as you see the cannons. Clambering around on the ropes you move in an attempt to see who is at the helm.

A woman is at the wheel but the only features you can make out are the wide-brimmed hat with a violet plume and a coat the glimmers as blue as the ocean during a storm. Then she looks up.

Then you are spotted.

The ropes in your hands immediately become sticky and and taut, winding and binding your legs, your arms, your torso. You have still not broken eye contact with the blue, blue eyes of the captain, only now she seems so much closer.

The rigging, the webbing, stretches all over the ship now, glistening drops beading along it as the stickiness oozes and traps the unlucky trolls who came too close. The spider picks her way slowly up towards you, chitinous shell a glistening blue, the feather from the hat becoming a violet streak across it’s thorax.

Instead of eating you like you thought it would the spider ignores you, going around to each member of it’s ex-crew and violently killing them, sometimes stabbing with a pointed claw, sometimes eating their heads. Sometimes it just bit and let it’s poison do the work. Those screams were the worst.

A rainbow of colors spattered across the deck, the gory show of deaths seemingly for your sake. Eventually the last scream gurgled out and the spider once again turned to face you. It clambered over the strings of its web and you close your eyes, not wanting to see your fate.

When nothing happened you dare to peek. In front of you stands Vriska, wearing the captain’s clothes. No, she is the captain, you’re not sure how you didn’t recognise her before. She laughs at your cringing then pulls you up so you are standing even with her on rigging that is hempen once more.

“Silly little Pupa, do you really think I would kill you just like that?”

You are frozen in fear. Somehow, when she is like this it is far worse than the hideous spider that had slaughtered the crew.

“C’mon, Pupa, smile! Think happy thoughts! Isn’t that what makes you flyyyyyyyy?”

With that last word she draws you close for a kiss- passionate, but as filled with venom as the bite of the spider. Then she lets you go.

You fall, but this time the wind will not catch you. The boards of the deck fall away beneath you as you hit them and you tumble into an endless void. Laughter echoes in your head as the poison seeps through your body, your veins.

Your mind.

**====== >**

You wake to find yourself being rolled through a bright series of ship corridors in your four wheel device.

Turning your head, you see it is Vriska pushing you along. As you look at her, she smiles and winks, then holds a finger to her mouth, motioning for you to stay quiet.

You guess you are escaping? That's probably a good thing, you figure. If you'd stayed in custody, Terezi and her subordinates would have eventually gotten to torturing and executing you. Even if you'd explained that you didn't want to live a life of crime, that Vriska had kinda made you join her in her adventures in illegality, they probably wouldn't have listened to you.

Besides, Terezi probably thinks the whole blinding her thing from your FLARP days was something you went along with willingly. You weren't given much choice in the matter, in actuality. None, really.

But then again, your life has never really been in your control. Certainly not since you met Vriska, sweeps ago.

As she rolls you along, you hear the sound of someone running. Vriska must hear it too, as she picks up her pace. The sound is getting closer, and you think it's coming from a hallway intersecting with yours, in the direction you are headed. You look back at her again as she pushes your four wheel device. She doesn't look particularly worried. The footsteps stop as a troll rounds the corner.

“Hey! Thtop right there or I _will_ blatht you!”

Vriska finally stops, turning slowly to meet the other troll with a grin. You crane around in your seat to try and get a better look. There is a yellowblood, sweaty from sprinting down here as if he knew you were escaping. He doesn’t look very strong, physically, but his fist is wrapped tight around a pair of bi-colored glasses and red and blue sparks seem to be crackling from his eyes.

“Sollux, isn’t it?” Vriska asks, honey dripping from her words.

“Put your handth where I can thee them and kneel on the ground, Thpider,” continues the other troll, Sollux, ignoring Vriska’s words.

“Fine, fiiiiiiiine,” drawls your matesprit, raising her hands to her head. You close your eyes and cringe slightly, knowing what’s going to happen next.

Sollux’s body jerks and stiffens, suddenly ramrod straight and still. The sparks from his red eye increase intensity but the blue ones die out. You look up to Vriska to see her brow furrowed, deep in concentration, and after a few more seconds of mental battle the mustardblood and the cereluan both seem to relax.

“Tricky little wiggler, this one. He might actually be skilled enough to beat me if he didn’t get so cocky.” Vriska smirks as Sollux walks down the corridor in front of you, limbs dragging along like a puppet’s.

The three of you continue down the hallway until you reach the shuttle docking station. Sollux lazily keys in the code, making the doors whoosh open. Vriska wheels you inside and as you pass the officer he flops down asleep as if his strings had been cut.

You clamber into the shuttle, using your strong arms and the many surfaces available to heave yourself into the co-pilot’s chair, Vriska folding up your four-wheeled device and planking herself down in the other seat.

The shuttle door slams behind you. Vriska is fiddling with the controls, and you feel the vehicle lift off the shuttle bay floor. The door to the shuttle bay opens into the abyss of space, and you’re away.

Vriska keeps pressing buttons and flipping dials, piloting the shuttle. You can’t make heads or tails of these controls, but Vriska sure seems to have it figured out. She never did get around to teaching you to fly a spacecraft. Vriska doesn’t tell you much, usually. She’s got “soooooooo many irons in the fire”, as she puts it. She’s kept you alive, and she does pity you. That’s about all you expect from her, at this point.

On the other hand, you worry that you might fear her more than you pity her. Just maybe.

After Vriska punches in coordinates to Tarvinia with her left claw, then switches on warp accelerators, she swivels her chair around and kicks her legs up on your lap. She looks you dead in the eyes and you try unsuccessfully not to flinch. You don't think she's going to be happy with you. You haven't dared speak with her since you attempted to flee while she was being arrested.

Instead of bursting into an angry rant, however, she laughs with near-hysterical glee. Her feet kick up and down in your lap. Thankfully it doesn't hurt; you've been unable to feel your legs since she made you jump off a cliff, sweeps ago.

"Hahahahahahahaha! Wow! That was crazy!”

You manage to reply, but you stumble over your words, as usual. “Uhh, what are you, well, referring to?”

“What do you think, Tavros? That was the closest I’ve eeeeeeeever gotten to being captured. I really underestimated her!”

“Vriska, we _did_ get, um, captured.”

“Well, yeah, but we escaped again didn’t we? That means the two cancel out.”

“Oh, well, okay. I just didn’t know it worked like that.”

“Of course _you_ wouldn’t, but I do. It’s why I’m the leader and you’re just a follower.”

You slump in the seat slightly, eyes fixed on the floor. It’s not the first time she’s said something like that, but it doesn’t hurt any less each time. She notices your glum look and makes an attempt to cheer you up, pinching your cheeks and speaking in a wiggler-voice.

“Aww, come on Tavvy. Where’s that brave smile of yours?

A flare of anger surges through your body, giving you a brief spurt of courage.

“D-don’t call me Tavvy. I don’t like it when you, uh, um…” You trail off under her cerulean stare, the last words of your outburst fading into nothing.

There’s an awkward silence for several seconds as her calculating gaze roams over you before she tosses a lock of hair over her shoulder and turns back to the shuttle controls. You are silent again.

“Don’t think I don’t care about you, Tavros. After all, what would a captain be without her crew?”

You feel a stab of pity in your chest, reminding you of why you’re her matesprit, before memories of your dream surface. The hideous, bulbous creature slowly and methodically culling the trolls on the ship, the screams of agony, the blood of the crew. _The kiss._

Vriska suddenly leans over and gives you a peck on the cheek, then goes back to piloting without saying anything more. You are not sure if the spreading blush on your face is from surprise or shame.

**====== >**

The flight back to Tarvina takes a full night and day, which pass largely without incident. Vriska pilots the ship with her left hand as the shuttle drops down through the planet’s atmosphere. You’re fairly sure you remember her being right-clawed, so this strikes you as strange.

When she’s zooming the ship though the city, between communal hive stems you realize her steering is noticeably sloppier than the last time she was piloting through a crowded city. As she parks the ship by her hideout, you finally get yourself to ask about this.

“Vriska, why aren’t you, uh, using your right claw to, well, pilot the shuttle?”

She lets out a sigh, and then turns back to look at you. Her brow is arched, and she looks exasperated.

“Tavros, really? Were you not watching the duel between me and Terezi at _all_?”

“Well, uhh, I did close my eyes for a, well, a bit of it,” you mutter out, ashamed.

Frowning, she lifts her right arm, and puts her palm out in front of your face. Her fingers move, but with a degree of awkwardness. She clenches them into a fist, but slowly, and without grace. You think she might be in pain, but if she is she’s hiding it pretty well.

“While you were _busy not paying attention_ during the duel, Terezi had knocked me down and stomped on my right wrist.”

You flinch, and she continues, nonchalantly. “It’ll get better eventually but for now it’s pretty badly fucked up.”

She exits the shuttle, and walks into her lair. You wheel yourself out, attempting to keep up with her pace, without success.

When you enter the lair, you see Vriska grab her husktop and put it in a bag. She continues to pack several other items of presumably some sentimental value as well; an old, weathered journal with her symbol on it, and an odd white sphere particularly stand out to you as strange. You don’t know what the deal is with either of these, but then again, you haven’t asked.

“Hey Tavvy, grab whatever you’re gonna bring with us. Sooooooooner the better! Can’t bring any of your pets with us, though.”

“Wait,” you begin, “Where are we, uhh, going?”

She turns to look at you, and gives you a wide and wicked grin, her eyes gleaming with a sort of dark enthusiasm.

“We’re going to Alternia.”

After plucking the sphere back out of her bag, Vriska sits back in her chair, staring intently at the white orb for a couple minutes. You don't have a clue why, and when you ask, she shushes you. When she's done, she announces she has a plan for how to get to Alternia.

You don't question why you are heading to the homeworld. It's an insane - adults have been banned from Alternia for as long as any troll alive can remember, since early in the reign of Her Imperious Condescension. There's probably a fair number of military ships guarding the system, as they are always picking up trolls when they turn eight sweeps and are assigned to a career. Vriska doesn't seem worried, as usual. You're not entirely sure she's capable of worrying.

First, Vriska says she needs to hijack a ride to get to Alternia. She says she's sure that Terezi has reported her escape and the theft of the shuttle so she figured it "better to catch a new ship to get there."

Naturally, her plan is to hijack a military vessel, belonging to the Threshecutioner corps. "to get into the Alternian system easier". Stealing a military vessel is generally a plan that could be regarded as 'totally mental', but the hijacking of a Threshecutioner ship with only one good claw is closer to being 'a foolproof way to die swiftly but not painlessly'.

She brings the Fluorite Octet, the odd white sphere, and a couple of daggers and a small pistol with her. When she leaves, she tells you she'll be back in about 4 hours and 13 minutes.

You are reasonably certain she is going to die there, and for some reason, you don't know how you feel about that.

You wait in the lair, communing with your animal friends. You say goodbye to them, from the miniature barkbeast to your trusty trained cholerbear, just in case Vriska does somehow come back and drag you off to Alternia. You don't want to say goodbye to your pets, especially not your poor old friend Rufio. But Vriska made it clear that they wouldn't be coming along to Alternia.

It occurs to you that you're going to be losing your pets, or you will be losing Vriska, and stranded here in the harsh cityscape.

Now you _really_ don't know how to feel.

Actually, wait. You've figured it out. You feel sad.

Vriska returns in a bit over four hours. You didn't time it, but her approximation of her return time seems startlingly close, possibly spot on.

She steps out of the spaceship's hatch with blood of indigo, brown, and green staining her jacket, and spinning a war sickle in her left claw. She appears to be uninjured.

"Hey, Tavvy, my plan totally worked! Let's get outta here!"

You roll yourself onto the ship, and the two of you leave for Alternia.

**====== >**

Your dreams trouble you over the next five days, as you travel across the stars. You dream of walking the plank. You dream of nights you've spent with Vriska. You dream of falling. You dream of wings, and a lance, stained in cerulean. You don't tell Vriska about any of this.

When you wake, you quietly wait for the next part of whatever Vriska is planning to unfold. Vriska doesn't tell you, and you don't ask. She does her best to keep you happy, which is to say there is occasional snogging and the like. Vriska is passionate, and she cares about you, cares for you. Sometimes you wish she'd give you more space.

On the sixth night the stolen ship arrives in the Alternian system. An incoming hail from a huge subjugglator vessel asks what exactly this Threshecutioner ship is doing in the system. Vriska bluffs her way elegantly through the conversation, skillfully posing as the the late captain. She explains with surprising politeness that she and her troops are here on official business, to put down a group of young Culler supporters on the homeworld quickly and quietly.

The Subjugglator captain seems to accept this, and checks to make sure Vriska has the necessary authorization codes to enter the Alternian system. She rattles off a seemingly meaningless set of digits, but judging by the response of the much larger vessel's captain, it was in fact the correct code. The Subjugglator captain wishes Vriska good luck with her mission and cuts the communication.

Vriska accelerates the stolen vessel, bringing you farther into the system. Soon you see the homeworld, and she brings the vessel down into its night sky, with the two moons of Alternia on the horizon.

You feel a pang of nostalgia for when you were young and life seemed full of wonder and possibility. Gazing out the front viewport from the back of the ship, you see she's landing the stolen ship near the coastline, in a rural area.

Then it occurs to you. You know this coastline, these cliffs.

The ship lands, and you look over at the hive of your youth.

After the two of you have unloaded your supplies and Vriska's weaponry, you settle back into the familiar setting.

It's strange, being at your old hive. You haven't had a real one since Vriska decided you should go with her on her 'daaaaaaaaring adventures'. She’s had plenty of hideouts and lairs over in the last sweep, but none of them felt like a proper hive to you.

You roll your four wheel device into your rumpusblock, walls still adorned with Pupa Pan posters, your old FLARP books are collecting dust in the corner. Memories of nights spent playing fiduspawn and days filled with dreams of adventure arise. You think you liked adventures more when you were not actually having them.

Vriska saunters into the block and takes a seat across from your four wheel device, kicking her legs up onto the table in an exaggerated motion.

"I've been thinking, and I think it's finally about time I let you know about aaaaaaaall the irons I've got in the fire."

"I know that you've, um, got a lot of, well, irons in the fire, Vriska."

" _A lot_ doesn't cover it, Tavros. I have soooooooo many irons in the fire right now, you have no idea. But you are about to. Lucky you!"

"Wait, so you're, um, actually going to, well, tell me your plans?"

"Of _course_ I will, Tavvy. Anyway, it's not like like you wouldn't find out soon anyway. Not with what’s about to happen."

You gulp at the sinister sound of the last statement. In quieter moments you forget just how dangerous your matesprit really is. You shake those thoughts out of your thinkpan as you notice Vriska entering her story-telling mode, this was where you had to pay attention.

“Okay, so you know about the Culler, right? Of course you do, only stupid wigglers don’t know about him at the moment. Well, through various sources,” here she waved her claws mysteriously. “I’ve found out who he is!”

“Wh-who?” you stutter. She waves the question off dismissively.

“It doesn’t really matter right now. What matters is _where_ he is and _how_ he’s culling everyone. And I know for a fact he’s not using psionics for that second bit, but I’ll go more into that later. First, can you guess where he is?” She spreads her arms out wide and you glance nervously around the block before taking a guess at her question.

“Al-ter-nia?”

“Correct! Well done Tavvy! I knew you had some brains between those big-ass horns of yours after all. Well anyway, the Culler is still just a little wiggler stuck on this stupid rock of a homeworld and he thinks he can make things better for himself when he gets off it by culling left right and centre. It really is pathetic, don’t you think?” You just nod and she continues.

“Now, I don’t really know how, my sources are being idiotically vague on the topic, but he’s got his claws on a special notebook that lets him cull _anyone_ he likes, no matter how far away they are, as long as he’s got some pretty basic information on them.”

Your jaw must have dropped open in question because Vriska makes that waving gesture she uses when she wants you to keep quiet.

“I mean, there’s a whoooooooole bunch of rules that come with it, but they’re easy enough to deal with for someone like me.”

“So, uh, what are we going to, um, do?”

“Duuuuuuuuh! We’re going to steal some of those notebook pages! Silly Tavros, didn’t I make it obvious enough for you?”

“Uh, well, yeah, I guess so. But, um, why not just, y’know, uh, steal the whole notebook?”

“Because the Culler can still be useful to us, dum-dumb. And he won’t be able to do anything to me, since he doesn’t know my name or what I look like or anything! Yeesh, I can’t believe you can still be so stupid after spending so much time near _me_. Oh well, I guess genius just doesn’t rub off on some trolls.” She stands up and starts to saunter out of the block, storytime obviously over.

“It would rub off if you had any to start with,” you mumble under your breath. In a swoosh of dark hair Vriska turns back to look at you, scrutinising the face of innocence you wear.

“What did you just say?”

“I-it would good if you got the pages quickly? That way we can, um, sort out the plans for what to do next, er, faster.”

“Huh, I think you mean so _I_ can sort out the plans faster. Honestly, Tavros, do you ever actually do any work around here? No, don’t answer that. Just stay here and play with your fidosaurs or fipospores or whatever.  I’ve got some things to do and I don’t need you distracting me.”

With that she strides out of the block, leaving you alone in a room that is at once both so familiar and so alien to you. With a sigh you wheel yourself over to a pile of cards and plush hosts, picking up the wigglerish game.

“It’s _fiduspawn_ ,” you mumble in annoyance.


	12. Fear

"Suicide is a valid cause of death. In other words, all trolls have within them the potential to end their own lives"

"Whether the cause of the troll's death is a suicide, accident, disease or other specified cause, if the death leads directly to the death of more than the troll whose name was written, the person will simply die of a heart attack. This is to ensure that other lives are not influenced."

"You may lend the Cull Note to another troll while maintaining its ownership. Subletting it to yet another person is possible, too."

\- Rules 9, 10, and 11 of the Cull Note

* * *

 

**Karkat: Contemplate**

You are trying to decide whose name to write next.

This wasn't a problem you had early on. There had been no shortage of vile and repulsive specimens of trolls in the Empire for you to cull but your endeavors had been too fast-paced and now the trolls truly deserving of your justice were thin on the ground.

You click through a couple more websites but only find two names to add to the notebook, a rapist and a highblood too quick to cull trolls who disobeyed him. So many of highblooded ones you'd expected you'd have to cull eventually seem to have cleaned up their acts, surely knowing what would happen if they didn't.

Eventually, you decide to go to try and get some rest, closing your husktop and putting the Cull Note in your desk. As you lie in your recuperacoon, pinpricks of sunlight begin to peep through the blackout viewing aperture coverings, and you feel your imaginings begin to shift into dreams as you fall asleep.

You are a god, all-seeing, all-knowing and all-powerful. You rule over the universe with an iron claw, bending the mere mortals to your whim until the perfect world is created. Until blood and age and strength no longer matter and the perpetual wars of mind and body have ceased. Planets whirl around you, orbiting like they would a star, and you toy with them like they are balls.

They spin and swirl around each other, leaving looping and curling trails in their wake. You set more in orbit, the multicoloured worlds forming intricate patterns and never quite colliding.

Something shifts behind you, as if another god was rising. You spin around for a look and as you do your hand jerks out and sends a planet off course. It spirals down and collides with another, a blue and green explosion of dust and rubble as the screams of the people who once lived there reverberate through your mind.

You quickly turn back, ready to repair the damage, but your neglect of the other planets causes chaos. Explosions radiate around you, the heat burning your skin and singeing your hair. Soon the sky is dark, littered only by dead remains of beauty lost as the screams still echo throughout space. Everything is hollow and empty and as loss floods through your mind you wish that the burden of god had never been placed on you.

You wake the sound of a Trollian message pinging on your husktop. Lifting your head, you find yourself at your desk, with your husktop open and the Cull Note closed on the side of your desk. Confused, you read the trollianlog.

 

arachnidsGrip [AG] started trolling  cruelGuardian [CG]

AG: Heyyyyyyyy there Karkat! I just figured I should let you know that I went and took 8 pages from your note8ook. Well you handed them str8 to me, what else could I do? As you know, this 8asically means you're my 8itch now. 8ut don't feel 8ad, this whole sorry Empire is gonna be my 8itch soon enough!!!!!!!! Enjoy living for however much longer I let you!  
AG: Catch you l8r Vantas!  :::;) 

arachnidsGrip [AG]  ceased trolling  cruelGuardian [CG]

  
  
You flip the fuck out.


	13. Heart

“Though moirail be lost, pity shall not; And death shall have no dominion.”

\- Troll Dylan Thomas

* * *

You are now NEPETA LEIJON.

You are a little over 7 sweeps old, and live in a CAVE that is also a HIVE on ALTERNIA, You like to engage in FRIENDLY ROLE PLAYING, usually online. Some trolls tend to take things like FLARP too far, making it quite dangerous, more dangerous than even your HUNTING of GREAT BEASTS. As such, your moirail had forbidden you from taking part in FLARPing.

Ever since the death of Her Imperious Condescension, you've been closely following reports of THE CULLER. You have rapidly found a great admiration for the presumably psychic vigilante who is bringing justice to the Empire. You're secretly DELIGHTED that the remaining of the highblooded aristocrats who run the galaxy are running scared for the first time in pretty much ever. Or rather, you would be delighted, if the news you recieved last week didn't leave you TOTALLY DEVASTATED.

Your trolltag is arsenicCatnip and :33 < *your sp33ch precedes itself with the face of your lusus who is pawssibly the cutest and purrhaps the bestest kitty you have ever s33n!*

You got the message informing you of Equius's death a week ago. It was the troll that Equius had been so flushed for that told you of his death, by way of Trollian chat. She had phrased it in such a matter of fact tone. "Equius Zahhak was culled in the line of duty". You read it and re-read it several times. Then she had simply apologized for being the bearer of bad news and logged out.

You'd heard from Equius last only an hour before then. You tried messaging him, again and again, in hopes for this to have been a mistake, or a prank or something. You waited at your husktop for hours, barely sleeping, for nights on end, with nothing to show for it but a void in your heart. It was futile, and eventually, on the fourth night, you were forced to accept that yes, your moirail was dead. Desperation and denial gave way to sadness and anger.

You wouldn’t have left your hive since that night if you hadn’t run out of food. Usually, when you hunted for food, it was thrilling, or at least enjoyable. The beasts you sought as your prey were large and fierce, after all. There was a degree of challenge to it, and challenge is fun. But when you bring down your prey, and as you drag it back to your hive, all it makes you feel is tired and sad.

Equius admires - no, admired, past tense, you correct yourself - the majestic strength of wild beasts, to the degree that he refused to eat meat. He didn't approve of your hunting of them. Equius didn't approve of a lot of things, really. But he cared.

When you arrive back at your cave, you hear the Trollian message alert sound coming from your husktop. You drop your slain prey and rush over to the screen, in hopes that it might, somehow, be Equius.

It isn’t. The message is blank. Wait, no - whoever this is types in white. You are so not in the mood for dealing with this right now, but you highlight the message anyway.

 

Hello there, Nepeta.  
I know you are suffering from grief for you dear deceased moirail, and are therefore not particularly interested in chatting with me or anyone right now, despite my charms.  
However, I have some information I’d like to offer you.  
I know who the Culler is.  
AC: :(( < even if thats at all likely to be true  
AC: :(( < why do you think i care about pawlitics or any of that nonsense?  
Because I know you do.  
I know a great deal about you.  
Then again, I know a great deal about everyone.  
AC: :(( < efuryone? that is impawsible! :OO  
AC: :(( < what sort of fool do you take me for?  
The sort that would do anything for those they care about.  
It's quite charming, really.  
AC: XOO < don't make fun of me!  
I am not. It really is adorable how much you care.  
You would have done anything to save him, am I correct?  
AC: :(( < ...  
AC: :(( < is that even a question  
I suppose not. Allow me to rephrase that.  
You would have done anything to save him. I am correct.  
Does that phrasing suit you better?  
AC: XOO < just get to the POINT already!  
Very well.  
I cannot help you save him. He is already gone, and my many powers do not include resurrection or turning back time.  
However, I can help you save someone else who could do with your assistance.  
One whose life is as we speak threatened by the very one who culled your moirail.  
Someone with the power, but not the information, required to give you your vengeance.  
AC: :// < wait  
AC: :// < you're still talking about the culler?  
Indeed.  
The troll who culled your moirail has discovered his identity, and has claimed his power as her own. She intends to toy with him, ruin his life, and later end it.  
AC: :// < she has the culler's power now?  
Yes, and with it she is the most dangerous troll in the galaxy.  
But she can be stopped.  
AC: :// < how is that pawsible?  
Lots of ways.  
However, I am not going to answer every question you have.  
That would not be particularly interesting.  
Instead, I'm going to give several pieces of information, and then leave you to your own devices.  
The username and password for Equius's work grubmail account are EZ100@grubmail.com and coltb100ded, respectively.  
You will be able to find a solid amount of accurate info on the troll who cut down your moirail and has subsequently stolen the Culler's power.  
The small investigative team your late Moirail was on, led by a brilliant neophyte Legislacerator known as T, will soon also have a list of suspects soon in the Culler case. One of this team will send the list of suspects to the rest of the team's grubmail accounts, accidentally including the late Equius Zahhak.  
The youngest of these suspects will be the true Culler.  
And finally, I ought to inform you that you will fall madly flushed for him, and save his life.  
AC: :// < uh  
AC: :// < what? how?  
You'll figure it out.  
AC: :// < are you really trying to set me up on a date with the culler?  
Goodbye, Ms. Leijon.  


 

The trollian window closes on its own, somehow. You have more questions to ask the white-text guy, but without a username to search for, you cannot message him. While you don't really trust anything that he said, you can at least test what he said about Equius’ grubmail account.

You login successfully. His account’s last email was regarding the arrest of a criminal by the name of Vriska Serket, also known as The Spider. It contains a great deal of info, as well as a mugshot. You think this is her. The one you need to stop, the one who deserves your vengeance.

As for the Culler, there’s no info on there about him currently. No list of suspects or anything. T must be pretty ambitious to be planning to go after him, though. You hope you will be able to save him from The Spider and T.

You also are hoping he’s cute.


	14. Distance

“The truth is, everyone is going to hurt you. You just have to find the trolls worth suffering for.”

\- The Dolorosa

* * *

 

You are now KANAYA MARYAM.

Being one of few trolls whose taste in clothing extends beyond the simple and utilitarian, you have a career as a FASHION DESIGNER. It is not high-demand career, as few trolls care about fashion, and still fewer care about it to the degree you do.

That being said, most of those who do have an interest in your wares are highbloods or seadwellers, and highbloods and seadwellers have a great deal of money. They would need to, to afford some of the highest-quality, most fashionable dresses in this sector of the galaxy, which yours are widely considered to be. As such, you have managed to become QUITE WEALTHY for a JADEBLOOD of only EIGHT AND A HALF SWEEPS.

You live in a communal hivestem's penthive, with a brilliant view of the city below. You've never had as much trouble as most trolls in dealing with sunlight. In fact, as you look out over the rooftops from your penthive, you find a great deal of beauty in in the light reflecting off the skyscrapers.

You probably should get some sleep, you think, but then it occurs that it's been a while since you've heard from your friend Karkat. He may claim to be a fierce troll, but you've been able to see through that facade for sweeps. In truth, you think he's rather a lot like a small and adorable barkbeast that yips a lot but would never bite anyone.

You met him on a forum online when you were both much younger, where he was going on at length about how incredibly terrible it was that Troll Leonardo Dicaprio still hadn't won a Troll Oscar. He cursed and ranted and insulted anyone willing to listen to him, but you'd noticed he made some very solid arguments why Troll Leonardo Dicaprio ought to have won that award sweeps ago, so you attempted to strike up a conversation.

He'd insulted you as well, blasted your interest in certain specific supernatural romance stories, and was generally unpleasant and crabby. You left this first conversation with him feeling frustrated and annoyed. Oddly enough, for someone who insisted at first that he could not stand you or your particular taste in romantic fiction, he kept starting trollian chats with you occasionally over the next several weeks. Eventually, he asked you why you had not blocked him yet. And while it also was partly because he had proven more amusing than intimidating with his constant irateness, you admitted to him it was that you suspected he was a good troll. This response had quite clearly caught him off guard, and from then on you slowly became good friends.

Besides, he was absolutely right about Troll Dicaprio.

In the two sweeps you've known him, he has slowly lost interest in things he'd been passionate about. It started with him stopping trying to learn how to code, which he had been working on for since you'd first met online. Nearly a sweep later, much to your shock, he quite abruptly stopped caring about romance films, telling you they were "FAKE AND POINTLESS". You of course began to worry about him, being the good friend you were, but after a particularly nasty argument where he called you a “MEDDLESOME OLD HAG WHO’S ONLY NOSING INTO OTHER’S BUSINESSES BECAUSE YOU DON’T HAVE ANY OF YOUR OWN” and you he a “Hopeless Little Wriggler Throwing A Tantrum Because Things Are Not Going Your Way” you backed off.

The pair of you had sulked for three nights before he contacted you again and by mutual agreement things more or less went back to how they had been before. But even after a fight it wasn’t too long before you were talking again, and the more you think about it now the more you’re worrying about him. You've not heard from him in a week. A week is a long time without contact and your last conversation with him ended abruptly. What if something attacked his hive? What if he was dead and there was no one else to find him? You've been busy over much of the last week, but you really should send him a message, make sure he is alright.

You head over to your desk and sit down, opening your husktop smoothly but with a swiftness betraying your underlying concern. However, before you can message him on Trollian, a chat window pops up.

Wait.

Who the hell is arachnidsGrip?

  


arachnidsGrip [AG] began trolling grimAuxiliatrix [GA]

 

AG: Heeeeeeeey!!!!!!!!   
GA: If You Dont Mind My Asking   
GA: Who Are You And Why Are You Messaging Me   
AG: Who am I? Can't tell you that, sorry.   
AG: You're a friend of Karkat Vantas, right, Kanaya?   
GA: You Know My Name It Would Seem   
GA: As Well As The Name Of A Good Friend Of Mine Who I Have Known For Some Time   
GA: So To Answer Your Question Yes I Am His Friend   
GA: But It Seems Safe To Guess You Knew That Already   
AG: Of course, I wouldn’t 8e talking to you otherwise :::;)   
GA: What Exactly Is It That You Want   
AG: I just want to tell you one thing, Kanaya Maryam.   
AG: Your 8uddy Vantas?   
AG: He's the Culler.   
GA: Wait What   
GA: How Is That Even Possible   
AG: How is aaaaaaaany of what he does possi8le?   
AG: But I’m not lying to you or anything, it’s him!   
GA: I Do Not Believe You   
GA: While He Has Been Acting A Bit Odd Lately   
GA: I Doubt He Has It In Him To Cull So Many Trolls   
GA: I Doubt He Has It In Him To Cull Anyone Really   
AG: Well, you don't really haaaaaaaave to 8elieve me.   
AG: I am just a stranger after all.   
AG: Why don't you just ask him?   
GA: Um   
AG: Have a nice chat!!!!!!!!

 

arachnidsGrip [AG] ceased trolling  grimAuxiliatrix [GA]


	15. Confession

“The best way to find out if you can trust somebody is to trust them.”

\- The Sufferer

 

* * *

 

 

**Karkat: Give up**

Your husktop pings and you groan, thumping your forehead against the desk one final time before sitting up straight. You rub at the lump already forming there thanks to the last few hours of self-depreciation and headdesking. Brushing the paper scraps and broken writing instruments, from your flip-out earlier, onto the floor to clear space on the desk you think back to what caused this literal and figurative mess.

With those eight pages stolen, and in the hands of the clearly power-hungry arachnidsGrip, all your schemes and plans for a peaceful empire would just be futile. They've seen your face, they obviously know your name, why would they let you live much longer? With those pages that psycho psychic is more powerful than the Condesce ever was, more powerful than the Empire is, more powerful than you were. And all because you were stupid enough to-

 

_ping!_

 

As your thoughts start to spiral downwards again the husktop chimes and you remember the reason for your sitting up. You drag the device a bit closer, ready to give a verbal thrashing to whoever dared disturb your self-loathing before you see the trolltag.

 

grimAuxiliatrix [GA] began trolling  carcinoGeneticist [CG]

 

GA: Hello Karkat  
GA: Are You There  
CG: WHAT DO YOU WANT KANAYA?  
CG: FUCK, I REALLY AM NOT UP FOR MORE OF YOUR WELL-INTENTIONED MEDDLING RIGHT NOW.  
GA: I Am Afraid This Cannot Wait  
CG: I NEED MEDDLING RIGHT NOW ABOUT AS MUCH AS I NEED TO BE RIPPED LIMB FROM LIMB BY RABID BARKBEASTS.  
CG: OR MAYBE BEING DEVOURED LIVE BY MASSIVE ANGRY SPACE SNAKES!  
CG: *SNAKES*, PLURAL!  
CG: THAT IS HOW MUCH I NEED YOUR MEDDLING. APPROXIMATELY NOT AT FUCKING ALL.  
GA: Karkat  
GA: If You Would Stop Ranting And Listen To Me For A Second  
CG: I WASN’T RANTING, I WAS MERELY STATING HOW MUCH I NEEDED YOUR MEDDLING AT THIS POINT IN TIME.  
CG: WHICH, IN CASE YOU DIDN’T GET THE POINT THE FIRST FUCKING TIME, WAS I DON'T NEED OR WANT IT, OKAY?  
GA: Are You The Culler  


 

 _Well fuck_ , you think, but before you can brush it off with another wall of angry gray text, she keeps going.

 

GA: I Would Rather Not Believe It To Be Case  
GA: And I Really Have No Idea How It Could Be True  
GA: But I Have Recieved A Message From Someone On Trollian Who Seems Quite Confident That You Are In Fact The Culler  
GA: And They Instructed Me To Ask You If You Were  


 

You need to respond. You need to tell her that it's bullshit, laugh it off as a the craziest story you've ever heard. You need to lie.

 _No_. This is Kanaya you're talking to. She is your friend. The only troll you've ever known who's earned your pity, not your hate. You wanted a life with her, once you got off this damned rock of a homeworld. If anyone has earned the truth, it is her, despite what she will think of you for it.

You stare at the unsent NO! in the message box, the cursor blinking on and off tantalizingly.

You need to lie to her, but you don't.

 

CG: YEAH, I AM. GA: What  
CG: I SAID, YEAH. I'M THE FUCKING CULLER.  
CG: IT'S ME.  
GA: Karkat You Are Kidding Right?  
CG: YOU KNOW ME, KANAYA. I DON'T "KID". JOKES AND PRANKS ARE FOR JUVENILE LOSERS.  
CG: I AM DEAD FUCKING SERIOUS.  
GA: How Is This Even Possible  
GA: Wait  
GA: No Do Not Tell Me  
GA: I Doubt Any Good Could Possibly Come From Knowing How You Have Done This  
GA: I Suspect That A More Important Question Than How Is Why  
GA: What Could Have Possibly Made You Think This Is A Good Idea  
CG: THE GALAXY HAD TO BE FIXED!  
CG: TROLLKIND AS WE KNOW IT IS VICIOUS AND CRUEL, AND EVERYONE THINKS THAT'S FUCKING NORMAL.  
CG: THAT THAT'S JUST HOW THINGS ARE, AND THAT'S HOW THINGS HAVE TO BE.  
CG: WE'RE A ROTTEN CIVILIZATION, I'LL GIVE US THAT. FUCKED UP AND ROTTEN TO THE DAMN CORE.  
CG: BUT I *REFUSE* TO BELIEVE THAT TROLLS ARE JUST HATCHED EVIL.  
CG: THE EMPIRE TEACHES EVIL, AND IT TEACHES FEAR.  
CG: I WANTED TO FIX IT, AND ONE NIGHT I SUDDENLY HAD THE POWER TO.  
CG: I HAD TO TRY, FOR THE SAKE OF OUR WHOLE DAMNED BLOODY SPECIES, I *HAD* TO!!!!  
GA: So You Culled The Empress  
CG: YEAH.  
GA: So In An Attempt To Stop The Evil Of Our Late Empress And End The Fear She Imposed On So Much Of Trollkind  
GA: You Culled Well Over Five Hundred Trolls In Two Weeks, Spreading Fear Throughout A Different Section Of Trollkind.  
GA: And You Would Call This Justice  
CG: YOU DON'T THINK THEY DESERVED IT?  
CG: THEY WERE *EVIL*, KANAYA. I RESEARCHED EVERY ONE OF THEM, AND THEY WERE ALL VILE SHITHEADS OF ONE SORT OR ANOTHER!  
GA: That Is Not My Point  
GA: And It May Well Make The Galaxy A Better Place If You Succeed  
GA: But What You Have Done Is Wrong  
CG: YEAH, WELL.  
CG: IT DOESN'T REALLY MATTER ANYMORE.  
CG: I LOST.  
GA: What Do You Mean You Lost  
GA: If The Empire Figured It Out I Rather Doubt You Would Be Able To Talk About it With Me  
CG: WHAT I MEAN IS IT'S BASICALLY GAME OVER AT THIS POINT, AND NOT JUST FOR ME.  
CG: SOMEONE ELSE HAS MY POWER NOW TOO, AND THEY'RE NOT INTERESTED IN FIXING ANYTHING!  
CG: FAR AS I CAN TELL THEY WANT POWER AND FUCKALL ELSE.  
GA: Not That I Would Approve  
GA: As A Matter Of Principle You Understand  
GA: But Could You Not Just Cull Them First  
CG: NOPE.  
CG: THE POWER'S GOT RULES, TOO MANY FUCKING RULES, AND I DON'T FEEL LIKE TALKING ABOUT ALL THE DETAILS BECAUSE IT MAKES MY THINKPAN HURT.  
CG: IT'S USELESS NOW ANYWAY.  
CG: THE NOOSE IS AROUND MY FUCKING NECK, I JUST AM CULLING TIME UNTIL THE TRAPDOOR OPENS AND I HANG.  
CG: OR RATHER UNTIL I FALL OVER DEAD WITH BLOOD PUMP FAILURE!  
CG: FUCK.  
CG: SO WHO TOLD YOU I WAS THE CULLER ANYWAY?  
CG: IT WAS THAT EXCRUCIATINGLY POMPOUS WHITE-TEXT DOUCHE, WASN'T IT.  
GA: No  
GA: Their Trollian Handle Was arachnidsGrip  
CG: OH GOD.  
CG: FUCK!!!  
GA: Karkat?  
CG: THAT'S IT, THIS HAS OFFICIALLY GONE FROM "I'M GOING TO DIE AN AWFUL LONELY DEATH HAVING ACCOMPLISHED NOTHING OR WORSE THAN NOTHING" TO BEING SOMETHING EVEN MORE INSANELY TERRIBLE AND FUCKED UP.  
CG: WHAT MORE DO THEY WANT FROM ME?!  
CG: WHAT EVEN IS LEFT FOR THEM TO TAKE?!

  
  


Another chat window pops up all of a sudden.

  
  


arachnidsGrip [AG] started trolling  carcinoGeneticist [CG]

  
  


AG: I 8elieve you mean what even is left for her to take.  
CG: FUUUCK.  
CG: WHAT DO YOU WANT THEN, YOU SELFISH POWER-HUNGRY BITCH?  
AG: Meeeeeeee? I'm no more selfish than you are, you silly wiggler  
CG: YEAH WHAT A MASSIVE LOAD OF SHIT, I WANT TO FIX THE EMPIRE, NOT RULE IT!  


  
  


You send Kanaya a message before you go back to dealing with the thief.

  
  


CG: FUCKING HELL, KANAYA, AG *IS* THE THIEF, AND SHE'S MESSAGING ME RIGHT FUCKING NOW. HOLD ON A SEC. UNLESS SHE CULLS ME NOW, I GUESS, IN WHICH CASE IT'S BEEN NICE KNOWING YOU.

 

You're only halfway through typing that up when your trollian pings again, and then several times more. You ignore the thief's messages until you finish and send your message to Kanaya.

  
  


AG: I know your motivations 8etter than you do, thanks to a relia8le source of information I’ve got.  
AG: It's true you’re not 8othered with ruling the Empire, which is good 8ecause you'd 8e ru88ish at it.  
AG: 8uuuuuuuut fixing the Empire is not the real goal of your petty little quest. It's how you justify it, sure, whatever, 8ut it's not what you really want most.  
AG: It’s just a means to an end for you. Your happy-ever-after with Kanaya that you want soooooooo despar8ly.  
AG: You just need to get rid of the castes if you want to survive as a candy-8looded mutant, after all. It's a really 8ooooooooring and selfish reason to lead a revolution, if you ask me.  
CG: FUCK YOU.  
CG: FUCK YOU SEVERAL TIMES OVER WITH AN ABNORMALLY LARGE SPIKEPLANT!  
AG: Wow!!!!!!!! Such a 8rilliant re8uttal to my explain8tion of your true motives.  
AG: You don't need to worry though. I’m going to get rid of that stupid caste system once I'm in charge anyway. I might even let you live to see my rule, if you willingly give up the note8ook to me. Haven't decided on that quiiiiiiiite yet. :::;)  
AG: Anyway, you and Maryam were meant to actually fight after I revealed you 8ut I guess you’re 8oth as 8oring as the other. I figured you wouldn’t 8e a8le to 8ring yourself to lie to her, 8ut her forgiving her little friend? Even after all you've done? Now that’s a joke.  
CG: YOU CAN'T SEVER OUR FRIENDSHIP. SHE'S LIKE AN INCONCEIVABLY GOOD FRIEND, ABOUT A BILLION TIMES BETTER THAN A WRETCHED ASSHOLE LIKE ME DESERVES!  
CG: IF EVEN I HAVEN'T MANAGED TO FUCK IT UP YET, I DOUBT YOU COULD.  
AG: Wroooooooong.  
AG: All I need to do is make you write her name!  
CG: WHAT.  
CG: NO.

  
  


You are about to start typing something, anything, to get her to spare Kanaya, when you freeze in place. You are unable to move, save for breathing, your claws stuck in place on your keyboard. This is it, you think. You know the notebook can control a troll's actions before death. And she is going to make you cull Kanaya, and then your blood pump will fail and you will perish.

You are left staring at the screen, helpless and unblinking, as the thief taunts you.

  
  


AG: I could always cull her myself with my 8 pages, 8ut I figured making you do it would would get the point across waaaaaaaay 8etter.  
AG: The point 8eing that you lost and I won!  
AG: I'm going to take over the Empire, 8ecause unlike you I'm actually kinda interested in it.  
AG: Poor Kanaya is going to have to die, of course. It's a shame, really, she seems like an interesting troll, 8y most standards. 8ut it’s your fault. Culling trolls with such a 8oring reason? Of coooooooourse you’ve gotta get punished for th8t!  
AG: 8ut you'll live, for now anyway. I didn't write your name on my pages, I'm just using regular old mind control on you.  
AG: Anywaaaaaaaay, time to get it over with!!!!!!!!

 

arachnidsGrip [AG] stopped trolling  carcinoGeneticist [CG]

  
  


Your hand moves and you can't stop it. You pick up the notebook, open it, and stare at the pages helplessly. You flip through page after page, filled with the names of culled trolls, until you come a page, a bit under half filled.

When you pick up the pen, you can see her in your mind. You've seen photos of Kanaya in the past, images she shared with you willingly, her beauty blindingly apparent. You know how this notebook works, so you fight to stop the image in your head, trying to think of anything but her face as the pen moves across the page.

You fail, and her name is there, written, in the same scrawl that culled the Empress and countless others.

 

_Kanaya Maryam_

_  
_ You regain control of your body quite suddenly, and the first thing you do then is begin to weep, pink stains falling onto the pages that have sentenced your only friend to death.


	16. Inevitable

Once a troll’s name is written in the Cull Note with their face in the mind of the writer, they are doomed to die within a maximum of 23 nights, depending on when their death is written. Erasing the name has no effect upon the mandated death.

If someone is written to die in over 23 nights from when their name is written, they will die 6 minutes and 40 seconds from when their name was written instead.

 

  * Rules 11 and 12 of the Cull Note




 

* * *

 

You stare at her name on the page, mentally counting down the seconds until her bloodpump would give out, before a ping! reminds you that you were still having a conversation with her. Mentally buoyed by thoughts of she’s not dead yet you scrabble for the pen dropped in your grief and amend the death sentence.

 

_Kanaya Maryam_

_Bloodpump failure_

_Dies painlessly after finishing a trollian conversation._

 

There. You have time, not much but better than the fifteen seconds you had left. Another ping drags your gaze away from the tear-soaked page and back to your husktop screen. You blink away the fuzziness and try to focus on the jade text.

 

GA: Karkat  
GA: Karkat I Have Been Waiting For Ten Minutes  
GA: Are You Still There  
GA: Karkat I Still Need To Talk To You And If You Think That Ignoring This Chat Is Going To Get You Out Of This Conversation Then I Will Pilot A Shuttle To Alternia Myself And Show You Just How Wrong You Are  
GA: If You Truly Are The Culler  
GA: Which I Have My Reservations About  
GA: Then I Will Need To Rethink Our Friendship  
GA: I Will Not Report You To The Authorities In Memory Of What We Had But I Do Not Think I Can Continue To Associate Myself With A Troll Who Has Done What You Have  
GA: So This Is A Goodbye Karkat  
GA: I Beg You To Think About What You Have Done  
GA: You May Think You Are Improving The Empire But That Does Not Wash Your Hands Of The Blood That Has Been Spilt  
GA: But I Doubt You Will Listen To My Advice  
GA: Karkat Are You Still Alive  
GA: If You Will Not Reply Then I Shall Go  
GA: This Is Not The First Time You Have Ended A Conversation Like This But It Will Be The Last  
GA: Please Do Not Contact Me Again  
GA: Farewell   
CG: WAIT!  
GA: I See So She Did Not Cull You After All  
CG: YES. WAIT, NO. I MEAN.  
CG: FUCK, IT’S WORSE THAN HER CULLING ME.  
CG: SO MUCH FUCKING WORSE THAT YOU CAN’T EVEN *BEGIN* TO COMPREHEND HOW TRULY AND UTTERLY TERRIBLE THINGS ARE.  
GA: I See   
GA: I Will Leave You To It Then  
CG: NO  
CG: DON’T GO!  
CG: WHATEVER YOU DO DON’T GO.  
CG: I NEED TO TELL YOU SOMETHING.  
GA: What Is It This Time  
CG: I’M GOING TO TELL YOU WHY I DID IT ALL.  
GA: Did You Not Already Tell Me That You Wanted To Fix The Empire  
CG: I WANTED TO FIX THE EMPIRE, SURE, BUT THAT’S NOT THE WHOLE PICTURE. I WANTED IT FIXED FOR A SPECIFIC REASON.  
CG: I KNOW YOU PROBABLY CAN’T STAND ME BECAUSE OF ALL THE SHIT I’VE DONE, BUT YOU DESERVE THE FULL TRUTH.  
CG: THE FULL TRUTH BEING THAT I JUST FUCKING WANTED TO *LIVE*!  
CG: I’M A CANDY BLOODED MUTANT, A FREAK. LOWER THAN THE LOWEST LOWBLOODS.  
CG: THERE’S NO GODDAMN WAY I’LL SURVIVE TO GO OFFWORLD IF THE EMPIRE STILL HAS THE BLOOD CASTE SYSTEM WHEN I TURN EIGHT SWEEPS.  
GA: Honestly Karkat  
GA: I Am Not Sure If That Is Any Better Than Acting Simply On Some Impossible Dream Of Fixing The Empire  
GA: In Fact I Rather Think It Is Not  
CG: WELL, FUCK, SORRY FOR BEING A SELFISH ASS AND WANTING TO *NOT* DIE.  
GA: If You Will Let Me Finish  
GA: I Was Also Going To Add That It Is Understandable  
GA: It Does Makes Sense  
GA: You Want To Live  
CG: I DID WANT TO.  
CG: BUT I DON'T KNOW, NOW.  
CG: I MEAN, I'M PRETTY MUCH FUCKED ANYWAY.  
CG: SO I GUESS IT'S NOT REALLY RELEVANT ANYMORE.  
GA: What Is It This Troll Who Stole Your Power Has Done To You  
GA: You Said She Has Done Worse Than Cull You

 

Staring at the screen, you realize that you can't bring yourself to tell her. You are weeping pale tears that steadily drip onto the keyboard.

It occurs that what you needed all this time was a moirail, someone to keep your head on straight, someone to calm you when raged. Kanaya was the one, you're sure of it. Maybe she could have found a way to smuggle you offworld, so that you might live. She was who you needed, and for _fuck's sake_ , you're already thinking of her in the past tense.

You blink, trying to clear your eyes and your head. She isn’t dead yet, you just have to keep her talking.

 

CG: SHE MADE ME DO SOMETHING REALLY *REALLY* FUCKING BAD AND I CAN’T TELL YOU BUT PLEASE JUST TRUST ME.  
CG: YOU CAN HATE ME ALL YOU WANT BUT WHATEVER YOU DO DON’T END THIS CONVERSATION OR SHE’LL WIN.  
GA: Karkat Unless You Tell Me Exactly What Is Going On I Will Leave No Matter What You Say  
GA: You Have Already Been Keeping Secrets From Me And I See No Reason For Me To Trust You Anymore  
CG: FUCK, I'M SORRY.  
CG: I’LL KEEP SAYING IT. I’M SORRY.  
CG: BUT IT’S STILL NOT GOING TO CHANGE A *FUCKING* THING!  
GA: What  
GA: Is Going  
GA: On  
CG: I CAN’T TELL YOU I JUST  
CG: I CAN’T  
CG: I  
CG: YOU  
CG: ARRRRGHHHHH!!!!!  
GA: Karkat You Have Thirty Seconds To Explain Yourself Before I Leave  
GA: I Have Other Tasks I Must Attend  
GA: I Thought I Was Being Quite Generous By Deciding Not To Report You As The Culler  
CG: DFSOREOUCT;OBFCAN;  
CG: I’M PALE FOR YOU.  
CG: THERE. I SAID IT.  
CG: I HAVE BEEN FOR SWEEPS.  
CG: YOU’RE THE NICEST TROLL I’VE EVER COME ACROSS AND NO ONE ELSE HAS EVER EVEN BOTHERED TO GIVE THE THE FUCKING TIME OF NIGHT BUT YOU PUT UP WITH ALL MY RANTS AND YOU DISCUSS ROMANCE WITH ME AND I’VE NEVER PITIED ANYONE AS MUCH AS YOU.  
CG: I THINK THAT IF I HADN’T KEPT THIS A SECRET FROM YOU IN THE FIRST PLACE LIKE THE NOOKSUCKING FUCKWIT THAT I AM THEN THINGS WOULDN’T HAVE TURNED OUT THIS WAY.  
CG: BUT NO. PAST ME HAD TO BE AS BLITHELY IDIOTIC AS HE ALWAYS IS AND NOW IT’S ALL MY FAULT THAT WE’RE IN THIS MESS AND I DON’T KNOW WHAT TO DO ANYMORE.  
CG: I FUCKED UP, KANAYA. I SERIOUSLY FUCKED UP.  
CG: AND NOW I’M BEGGING YOU TO PLEASE JUST STAY AND TALK TO ME A BIT LONGER. WE CAN WORK THINGS OUT.  
CG: EVEN IF YOU DON’T PITY ME BACK WE CAN STILL BE FRIENDS, RIGHT?  
CG: KANAYA?  
CG: …  
CG: PLEASE TELL ME YOU’RE STILL THERE.  
CG: OH FUCK.  
CG: OH FUCK OH SHIT OH FUCK OH SHIT KANAYA PLEASE STILL BE THERE PLEASE TELL ME YOU DIDN’T LEAVE.  
CG: PLEASE BE THERE KANAYA.  
GA: I Am Still Here  
GA: I Was Just  
GA: Processing  
CG: OH THANK GOD YOU’RE STILL ALIVE.  
GA: I Am Not Entirely Sure Why You Think I Would Not Be  
GA: Nevertheless I Am Sorry To Say I Do Not Share Your Feelings  
GA: Maybe Once  
GA: In A Different Time Or A Different Universe  
GA: But In Light Of Recent Events I Cannot Say I Reciprocate Your Pale Feelings  
CG: I UNDERSTAND.  
CG: BUT CAN WE STILL TRY TO WORK THIS OUT?  
CG: NOT THE MOIRAIL THING, THE FRIENDSHIP THING.  
GA: No  
GA: I Believe I Have Had Enough Of This Conversation And Enough Of You Karkat  
GA: This Shall Be My Final Farewell  
CG: NO KANAYA DON’T GO PLEASE.  
CG: I’LL CHANGE, I’LL STOP CULLING AND FIX MY PROBLEMS.  
CG: I’LL LISTEN TO YOU MORE I’LL DO ANYTHING.  
GA: Frankly Karkat  
GA: I No Longer Give A Damn

grimAuxillatrix [GA] ceased trolling  carcinoGenteticist [CG]

 

You let out a cry, a howl of anguish that can only be described as vast.

Kanaya Maryam is dead.


	17. Conflict

"History will be kind to me for I intend to write it."

\- Marquise Spinneret Mindfang

 

* * *

 

It is a warm night.

Most nights in this region of Alternia are warm. Tavros may like the heat, but it's starting to get on your nerves, as you sit outside by the cliffside. Still, you don't need to stick around Alternia much longer. You have the pages, and that fool Vantas can't touch you, seeing as he doesn't know jack shit about you. He culled more than eight pages worth of trolls in his little reign of terror, but he was stupid, culling a bunch of trolls who'd be no threat to him simply because he deemed them evil. What a moron! Besides, his handwriting was large and messy. You can easily take allllllll the power with what you've got.

Standing up, you stretch and look out at the two Alternian moons in the sky over the sea, and the stars beyond them. You _know_ you can do this. You can save the Galaxy from the weak-willed and naive young empress, prevent the civil war that's brewing all around her, just as you stopped that self-hating fool who tried so sloppily to save the galaxy before you. With the knowledge that the cue ball grants, and the power of the Culler, this shouldn't even be that hard. The galaxy is as good as yours.

You turn to see Tavros wheeling himself slowly across the lawnring in your direction. Grinning a fanged grin, you flourish the pages for him to see, spinning the cue ball in your other claw. "Heyyyyyyyy, Tavvy, good news! I'm totally gonna rule the Empire!"

"Um, congratulations, I guess?", he says, in a questioning tone that is waaaaaaaay insufficiently congratulatory. Enthusiasm has never been his strong suit, at least not where it came to anything actually real or interesting.

“Oh _come on_ , Tavvy, that was pathetic. You’re gonna be by my side as I take over the whole damn galaxy and that’s the best response you can manage?”

“I, um, well yeah, sorry.”

“Apology accepted! So, what’ve you been up to while I was busy actually doing useful stuff?”

“Uh, not, much really?”

“Tch, typical. you’ve probably just been too busy playing with your stupid little wriggler games again, haven’t you?”

“Well, not just that. I was also, um-”

“Whatever, it doesn’t matter anyway. I’ve got the pages now so it’s going to be smooooooooth sailing from here on out. Just you and me, Tavvy!”

“Um, well, I’ve kinda, uh, been meaning to talk to about that.”

You didn’t expect that reply. You turn and look at him, but he avoids your gaze. If he’s finally grown a damn backbone, this is a poor time for him to have done so. Nothing about him is ever convenient, though, so whatever, you might as well hear what he has to say.

“Ohhhhhhhh? What do you mean by that?"

"I mean, that I, um, I think I need to, well, break up with you, Vriska."

What. Whaaaaaaaat. He wants to break up? _Now_? Has he lost his fucking _mind_?!?!?!?! You try and keep your composure, but honestly, dealing with such a staggering degree of stupidity isn't easy. When you respond, your words are dripping with sarcasm.

"So, you want to dump your awesome matesprit, who is going to be ruling the galaxy in a matter of weeks? Hate to break it to you, but that's got to be the dumbest thing I've ever heard."

He's still avoiding eye contact. Lousy goddamn coward matesprit. You are so not letting him break up with you like this. In fact, you’re not letting him break up with you at all. It's beyond idiotic.

"Well, it's what I think, I need to do. Because what you are doing, as well as, what we have been, well, doing, is, and has been, um, wrong."

You sigh heavily. He really has noooooooo sense of the big picture here. All horns and no thinkpan. You don't want to be cruel and beat some sense into him, you're better than that, to him at least, but seriously, his cluelessness is astounding. You don't even know what to say to this.

Tavros finally looks up, but he still is avoiding eye contact. One of his claws is twitching nervously on his four wheel device, and one is in his coat pocket. You think he's staring out over your shoulder, at the ocean beyond the cliff face. He looks afraid.

"Well, um, Vriska?", he says, as if that were even a question.

"Tavros," you begin, "Let me- just let me explain this one little thing, alright?" You show him the cue ball. "This little ball belonged to my ancestor, Marquise Spinneret Mindfang. It's kinda magic, and it can answer _literally any_ question I give it." You wave the notebook pages in his face. "I already told you what these do. The power to cull _anyone_. Can you imagine what we could do with these!?"

"Well, I do have a, um, fairly good idea, of what you would do. I think you'd probably cull, well, a lot of trolls. And I, I don't think most of them would, deserve to, uh, die. Is there any, um, better ways to do this that don’t, uh, involve culling?"

"You’re still not seeing the big picture, Tavros! This isn't about individual puny little lives, this is about the whole fucking Empire! If it keeps being run by a prissy princess like that Peixes girl then it's going to collapse into a fucking war! Trolls killing trolls and all that. And if that Vantas kid, who is the Culler FYI, actually tried to take over with his stupid plans to get everyone to be equal? Well that's the most idiotic, dumb and outright outrageous scheme I ever heard! The only way this galaxy can function properly is the strong ruling over the weak, and the clever over the clueless! No hemocastes, naive optimism, or totally fake equality, just _skill_! Those who can rule _should_ , and those who should serve? Well they won’t get a choice. You’ll be at my side as I take over, of course. Even with your, how should I put it… limitations… I’m not going to leave you behind Tavvy. Nobody else is getting that offer! Nobody! Do you fucking understand yet!? Did I make it clear enough that this is the best deal you're _ever_ going to get?"

He's looking at the ground again. "I think so? I mean, I do think you care, about me, in your own way, sort of."

Did he just _insult_ your generosity there? Wow, he's actually standing up for himself! This is progress. Still, you can't let this go too far, and certainly not on a topic like this. You think you should probably take a lighter tone with him, for now anyway.

"I smuggled you off Alternia with me because the drones would have culled you for being a cripple. Why do you think I did that? You're my matesprit, in case you forgot. Of course I care about you!"

And now he's _crying_. What a sentimental wiggler, ugh, and here you thought he was getting better. Oh well. Maybe he really is hopeless, but you don't want to give up on him. He begins to speak, his voice unsteady but still clear through the tears.

"It's just that, I don't think I agree, on your motives, for your latest, well, scheme. You like power, and you - you want to be in control of, um, whatever you can get control of. Maybe you should, I guess, check, and ask that magic sphere, if you are, um, doing the right thing?"

He doubts your motives? Well, you'll show him. Not literally, he doesn't have vision eightfold, but whatever, you're so totally right and he's obviously wrong, so no harm in checking for your own sake.

"Fiiiiiiiine! Might as well make sure!"

You look into the magic cue ball, grinning confidently.

_You have done exactly what you were supposed to._

A gunshot rings out, loud as thunder, and the cue ball falls from your claw.

Tavros, still crying, is holding a smoking pistol, pointed straight at your bloodied chest. You gape at him silently, swaying where you stand.

"I, I couldn't let you, take over. I'm sorry."

The muzzle of gun flashes. Not even feeling the second bullet, you drop the pages, and then fall backward, down off the cliffside.

By the time your body hits the rocky ground far below you’re already gone.


	18. Darkness

Oh life, it's bigger

It's bigger than you

And you are not me

The lengths that I will go to

The distance in your eyes

Oh no, I've said too much

I've said enough

 

  * First verse of Losing My Religion by Troll R.E.M.




* * *

 

You sit there by the cliffside, gun smoking in your claw, knowing that you did what you had to do. You were the only one who could have stopped her, and she had to be stopped before she could go and tear the galaxy apart. What you did was necessary, you tell yourself. Not for you, but for, well, everyone else.

The tears roll down your cheeks, and you drop the gun, and bury your head in your claws.

Vriska Serket, the one who crippled you at this same cliffside sweeps ago, the troll with the endless string of shallow apologies, the one who raised you up, pushed you down, and raised you up again. The only troll you ever knew who pitied you. The one who ruined your life, then saved it. The ambitious, clever, mercurial, maddening and manipulative Vriska Serket. The troll who would, every so often, look at you when she thought you weren’t paying attention and genuinely smile.

You had pitied her in return, despite yourself. She had a certain larger-than-life quality to her, fiery and bold. You'd have been culled long ago by the drones if she hadn't gone flushed for you, and she'd kept you alive for sweeps. 

Of course now, without her to pilot the stolen ship, you're a crippled lowblood adult stuck illegally on Alternia. The Threshecutioners are sure to track down the ship Vriska stole eventually, so it's pretty obvious to you that you're as good as culled now. But, in the state you're in, you guess you're almost okay with that. Still, you think you'd rather live than not. 

Eventually the flow of tears dies down, and you lift your head. Lying by the edge of the cliffside are the pages and the white sphere. 

The white sphere that Vriska said could answer any question she gave it... well, it's worth a shot, you guess. You pick up the orb, careful not to look down the edge of the cliff, and put the pages in your pocket. 

"So, uh, magic sphere thing, could you tell me how I can, well, get off of Alternia, without getting, well, culled?"

The white orb remains opaque, and all you your hear is the wind.

"Um, is this thing working? White orb, do you actually, well, do anything?"

No answer.

You throw the useless sphere into the sea, and wheel yourself back towards your hive. It occurs to you that an early demise is an awfully poor reward for saving the galaxy from your matesprit's cruel and callous whims, but you sure can't think of a way to avoid it at this point.

 

**====== >**

 

When you were young, you had a great deal of enthusiasm for adventures. Pupa Pan, the winged troll, blessed with eternal youth despite his low bloodcaste, was your hero. Real adventures, you now think, are different from those in stories. Vriska did eventually convince you that Pupa Pan belonged to the latter sort, though not by her exasperated insistense that he was fictional and fake. Instead, the more of the Empire she showed you, the more adventures the two of you had, the more convinced you became that Pupa Pan would not survive in this harsh galaxy. Somewhere along the line, you decided it would be better if adventures were all fake. 

Vriska, on the other claw, had grown ever increasingly ambitious and enthusiastic, seeking out danger and power wherever she could find them. She was hooked on the thrill of it, and addiction is a powerful thing. But you, you're sick of adventure, and tired of thrills. 

You unfold the pages and put them in front of you. Looking down at them, you wonder if perhaps you could try and search out the Culler yourself. Vriska told you he was called Vantas, though you've no idea if that is a first or a last name. Vriska said his goal was to bring equality to the Empire, which is a pretty worthy cause, you guess. It certainly would help you out.

Even if you could find where he was, showing up at the Culler's hive would likely be an awful idea. You doubt he'd forgive you so easily for having been Vriska's accomplice all these sweeps. The Culler has culled a significant number of notorious career criminals in the past week, after he began to run out of the more monstrous members of the seadweller aristocracy and the ranks of the Mirthful Church. He'd simply end your life to cover his tracks, especially since you had worked with the troll who stole from him. Even if his goal of equality is admirable, he's culled way more trolls than even Vriska had. You don't think you want to meet someone who could do that, in, well, any circumstance whatsoever.

If there is hope for you, you think it lies with Feferi Peixes. Vriska had seemed confident the young Empress' rule was doomed, but you're not nearly so sure. If the Culler planned to cut her reign short, he would have done so by now, and while the Culler lived, none of the nobility would be so reckless as to attempt to depose her. If you could get to her, somehow, and let her know what you know - that the Culler is on Alternia, a boy named Vantas with a magic notebook - , you think you would likely be rewarded for information like that.

You've made up your mind. You wheel yourself to the ship, and you use the radio, broadcasting on official channels.

"Hi, my name is Tavros, and I, well, am the former accomplice of a, well, notorious criminal known as the Spider. Former because, she's, well, dead. Before she died though, she figured some stuff out about the Culler, including how he culls, and his location. Anyway, I would like to surrender, I guess, and tell what I know to the Empress. So, yeah, if anyone hears this, let me know, and get me, um, off this planet?"

You lean back in your four-wheel device, thinking. Vriska used to say she was hatched lucky. This was true, in many ways, but it didn't save her from, well, from what you did. You can only hope your decision is met with good fortune. You don't have all the luck, but you think you might just have enough.


	19. Losses

"The fear of death follows from the fear of life. A troll who lives fully is prepared to die at any time."

\- The Summoner

* * *

  


You are now SOLLUX CAPTOR and you cannot believe what you are hearing.

"Theriouthly?", you ask, sitting in the respiteblock Aradia and you share on T's ship, the _Redglare_.

"Really!" your matesprit continues, "It would be great! I know you had issues with him, but this could be a really good way to resolve them, since he's dead now. It would provide a sense of closure, and let us bond together over our fallen comrade! Oh, maybe I could bake a cake for it!"

"Thorry, not even a tiny bit interethed."

"Come on, Sollux! Please?"

Aradia leans forward, eyes wide and pleading. She seems to be attempting her best impression of a baby barkbeast. Sighing, you stand.

"AA, Equiuth was culled over a week ago. I didn't like him, and I don't want to think about it. Where did you even get thith idea from?"

"I was reading about the archaeology of extinct races on conquered worlds, and apparently a lot of them are believed to have had rituals of this sort. It's fascinating the different ways different races dealt with death!"

You can tell she's excited. It's hard to say no to her, even on the best of nights, but this is ridiculous. Why is she so excited about _this_ of all things?

"Aradia, I really don't-" you begin, when T opens the door. She's wearing a little pointy red hat, for some reason.

"Hellooo! Aradia, when are you going to be holding the corpse party? I'm getting tired of waiting!"

For fuck's sake, it's official now, you are surrounded by lunatics.

 

**====== >**

 

You are, begrudgingly, sitting in the meeting block, in front of an indigo cake with “Rest In Peace Equius” written on it in frosting. T is sitting across from you still wearing the stupid hat, and Aradia is standing at the head of the table. There is also a container of sparkling “root sopor”, which you’ve always thought was an odd name for a soft drink.

“Hello!”, Aradia begins, “I’d like to start by thanking you for your patience, T, and also thank Sollux for putting up with me and this idea of mine.”

You respond with a sullen grunt.

“I’d also like to apologize for this not technically being a corpse party, as our late comrade’s body has begun to smell somewhat.”, which you think is a remarkably mild way of putting it, but whatever.

“Anyway, we meet here on this night for a solemn purpose. We remember our colleague Equius Zahhak, a good and kind troll cut down in his prime. He was a polite and gentlemanly highblood, who cared passionately for the arts, was skilled in robotics, and pitied his young moirail dearly. I always thought highly of him, although I don’t think he realized it. He cared about me quite a bit, and though I did not feel for him as he did for me, I certainly did respect him. Hm… T, you can go next, then Sollux can wrap it up for us.”

Aradia sits down in her chair, and T clears her throat, and stands.

"Equius Zahhak was all that and more. He was, despite his strength and caste, a peaceful troll. The first time I heard of him, I was still very much a neophyte legislacerator. He was an up-and-coming young detective, noted for his unorthodox methods. By this I mean, when the suspect was a lowblood, he refused to shoot first and ask questions later, as is the general Imperial policy. He felt that if they could be reasoned with, and talked into giving in peacefully, that it was his duty to do so. While he did not question the authority of higher castes, he felt that he personally wanted to use his authority and caste to help others where possible, to the best of his ability. He was the first troll I picked to be on my team, and now, it seems, the first I've lost. I swear by all I believe in, I will bring Vriska Serket to justice. She will hang for what she did to him."

Terezi sits, and Aradia looks over at you, expectantly.

“I thupposthe I’m meant to say thomething now, right?”

They nod, and you just sigh, maybe a bit overdramatically.

“Zahhak and I were never friendth. I’m not going to sugarcoat it. He was casteist, smelly and generally unappreciative of what I did for the team. That’s not to thay he wathn’t a good troll. Hith thkills in roboticth were pretty damn amazing, and onthe he thopped thmashing the keyboards he wathn’t a half-bad coder. He may have been a creepy athhole but he never tried to hurt me or AA and I gueth I can thorta rethpect that.”

There was an awkward silence for several seconds where the other two just stare.

“There! I thaid thomething! Now can we end thith thtupid ‘corpthe party’ fiathco?”

"Of course not, Sollux!", T exclaims. "There is still a cake for us to devour!"

 

**====== >**

 

The cake disappears at an alarming rate, mostly thanks to T. As she takes another slice, and puts it on her nutrition plateau, she asks you a question.

"So I assume no information has come up online regarding Vriska, Sollux?"

You snort. "I don't expect we'll be hearing anything about her thoon. Hacked into her Trollian, but apparently Vrithka doesn't have it thet to thave converthationth, so no records on who the'th contacted of what they thaid. I changed that, but the'th not been on thinth then. Got a program scanning the web for info though. The program ith good - I thould know, I made it - but the'th probably laying low, and we'd need a therver a lot larger than thith thip to keep up with all the data online that we'd be motht likely to find her with, particularly thinth it taketh a while to for my program to hack into offithial channels you can't acceth."

T stops chewing mid-bite, and puts the rest of her cake slice back on the nutrition pateau.

"Sollus, are you illegally hacking into official imperial channels without having notified me about it in advance?"

Shit. Time to attempt damage control here.

"Well no, technically, I built a program to automatically comb the entire web and connected networks galaxy-wide for info that could pothibly be related to her? It'th doing the hacking." Well, most of it. "Jutht trying to help."

"Good! We'll need every advantage we can get to track her down, not to mention the Culler."

You stare at her.

"Wait, what?"

She simply states, "We're going to catch Vriska, as well as the Culler, and bring them to justice. The Culler is simply too dangerous to be left alone, and Serket, well, it's personal with her."

Aradia looks over at T quizzically. "Didn't Empress Peixes order imperial forces to not attempt to track down the Culler?"

T frowns. "Indeed, she had to. She'd probably have been culled by now if she hadn't." T picks up the rest of cake slice from her nutrition plateau again, and chews on it slowly.

"Tho," you say, trying to phrase what you say next carefully, "not only are you ok with my hacking imperial channelth, you are ignoring direct orderth from the Empreth herthelf?"

"Nope! When I heard that Legislacerators were not to attempt to find the Culler, I resigned!"

If T stating that she was going to hunt down the Culler felt like a rug being pulled out of under you, this feels more akin to the laws of reality as you know them suddenly shifting suddenly and significantly. Up is down, red is blue, T quit being a legislacerator. Something is clearly off.

"Thith ith a joke, right? The thelection droneth thpared your life dethpite your blindneth tho you can be trained ath a Legithlatherator, and by my underthtanding you completed training at an athonithing rate to be out in the field at your age. And you're jutht throwing your rank and thatuth away tho you can hunt down the Culler, who by my underthtanding no one hath the first clue how to find?"

"Sollux, I had no idea you cared so much about status and rank!", T exclaims, and the cackles a bit.

"Fuck, T, you know I don't give tho much ath one fifth of a thit about that. But far ath I can tell, catching the Culler ith a lost cauthe; therth'th nothing to invethtigste!"

Aradia speaks up, for the first time since the cake was served.

"Actually, Sollux, do you know how many trolls are known to have been culled by the Culler in the last night and a half?"

"Thorry, AA, no idea. Been too buthy trying to track down Therket. Probably at leatht fifteen, though. He'th a prolific criminal, that'th for thure."

"Sollux," T says, "There have been zero deaths attributed to the Culler in the last night."

There was silence for several seconds, the air heavy with the revelation.

“What,” you state flatly.

“Over the past 27 hours there have been exactly zero deaths that fit how the culler culls and why. This could mean one of two things. One: Someone has found him, and put a stop to it. If that is the case, which I highly doubt, then we shall no doubt hear about it soon enough. After all, if you’ve found the Culler why wouldn’t you want to gloat? I'm sure there are plenty of trolls who would be willing to reward anyone who brought an end to the Culler's reign of terror."

“Two: He’s planning something big. We still don’t know how he manages to cull people at such a distance, or even how he culls at all, but it would make sense that this is merely the calm before the storm.”

You gape at your boss, open mouthed. Aradia listens intently, a slight frown creasing her brow.

“Either way we need to find out who the Culler is, or was, and put a stop to this once and for all. Being a member of the Legislacerators would only slow me down. This way is far more… efficient.” By this point she was grinning gleefully. "The case is far too enticing for me to ignore anymore, and stopping the deaths is always a bonus too.”

“But how are we meant to find him if we’re dodging the authoritieth ath well? Do you expect them to jutht thtand athide and go ‘Oh no, they’re jutht chathing the Culler, it’th fine’?” You switch from incredulous to sarcastic-and-defensive.

“Of course not! It wouldn’t be nearly as fun if they did that. But I believe that, as a team, we’ll easily be able to get past them. What do you-”

“T.” Aradia finally spoke again. She was still frowning thoughtfully, staring down at her claws that were laying gently in her lap. “I am behind you completely with this. The Culler must be stopped. But before we go any further I need to know. Do you think this is a game?”

The blind troll seemed to stare at the rustblood for an eternity, calculating and judging the correct answer. All the excitement and glee that had radiated from her not seconds ago had vanished as she stood and turned to exit the room. Before she reached the door she paused momentarily, calling over a shoulder.

“ _Life_ is a game, Miss Megido, and I intend to win it.”

 

**====== >**

 

After the 'corpse party' is over, you return to the respiteblock you and your matesprit share. Aradia looks frustrated and stressed, and it occurs to you that the frown on her face doesn't suit her. She's usually so cheerful, and though you don't know what exactly is bothering her, you figure you should probably try at least check what it is with her.

"Thomething bothering you, AA?"

She sits in a chair across from the recuperacoon you share, and begins to speak.

"Yes, I suppose so. T is doing the right thing, by going to hunt down the Culler. She's skilled, resourceful, and very clever. She even beat me at chess the other day. But it's pretty clear she's not as interested in stopping the Culler as much as she is in figuring him out. She cares more about the Culler as a puzzle to be solved than a threat that must be stopped. She wants to do the right thing, for the wrong reasons, and I'm not sure what to do about it."

This line of discussion is putting you on edge somewhat. You take a seat on the floor, and open up your husktop, checking your apparently fruitless search for info on Vriska Serket's whereabouts.

"Don't know what to tell you, AA. I'm no thort of expert in politicth or justith. I don't mean to dithagree with you, but I'm not totally thure it'th even doing the right thing to even try and thtop the Culler. He's obviouthly got theriouth power, and while he'th uthing it to cull trollth, he'th conthithtently culling the wortht trollth in the galaxy, and fear of him hath, by all accounth, thcared the theadwellerth enough for them to allow the rule of a leth crazy Empreth, which would have been totally fucking unimaginable before. I don't think what the Culler ith doing ith right, but I don't know that thtoppig him ith right either, and I'm thertainly not thure it'th a good idea for us to try."

She sighs, and looks at you, apparently disappointed in your response. You frown, tapping your foot nervously on the floor.

"Thorry for not giving the right anthwer, I gueth. What thould I have thaid? Thould I have lied, claimed that I'm thure you're right? I don't know thit about thith thort of thing."

Aradia closes her eyes, and takes a deep breath. She sits in silence for several seconds, before opening her eyes and standing, walking past you. She gets undressed and lies down in the recuperacoon you share. Sighing, you take off your clothes and glasses, and lie next to her in the sopor slime.

You try and curl up next to her, but she just lays there, unresponsive, until she speaks, looking up at the ceiling.

"Sollux, in my study of the archaeology and of dead worlds, I've learned that many, if not most, of the races that were destroyed in the Empire's conquest of the galaxy, had something in common. None of them were able to stand up to the Empire, but that's mostly because almost none of the other races that survived long enough to expand into the the stars had any interest in warfare or culling each other. And then our Empire comes along, bloody from conquest, weapons wet with the blood of lowbloods and conquered, wiped-out races. They never stood a chance. Call me naive, but I've come to the conclusion that while death may be inevitable, forcing it on another is wrong, always. Every single time. I don't wish to cull The Culler, or Vriska Serket or anyone. I just want the cycle of senseless slaughter to stop."

You're not sure what to say to this, so you don't say anything. Soon after, sleep takes you.

 

**====== >**

 

You walk along an empty beach, sand a grey that makes you think your feet are dissolving into it. You don’t remember how you got here, or how long you’ve been walking, but the trail of lonely footprints that stretch out behind you must mean something.

You walk on.

The waves lapping at the beach are small and oily. Looking at them burns. Something tells you that touching them would burn even more. You walk further up the beach, away from the burning water, towards the dunes speckled with grasses where the sand crunches under a thin layer of salt.

But the dunes are not empty. As you peer over the crest of a hill the sand slopes down, getting harder, more solid, more silvery than grey. It becomes the floor of a ship, but there are no walls, only dunes stretching away into eternity.

Lying in the middle of the floor is a body. It’s blurry and bruised and as you walk closer you hear the grasses whispering in the wind.

_You did this. You let it happen._

As you approach the prone form it comes into focus. It’s heavily muscled, with long hair, a broken horn.

And a gaping gash across his throatstem.

_It’s your fault. You could have stopped it._

As you watch a puddle of indigo begins to drip from the wound, running in rivulets across the metal, the sand, over the dunes, around your feet.

_You did this._

You watch in morbid curiosity as the blood flows from the body and towards the ocean.

_It’s your fault._

You turn to watch as the waves lap at the indigo liquid, drinking it up, becoming stained and blue themselves. But the blue isn’t quite right. It’s not as rich, as deep, it’s poison.

_It’s your fault._

The waves grow bigger and bigger as the rivulets run dry, having gained strength from the pointless death that was

_ALL YOUR FAULT._

Suddenly the wind is howling, sand and foam whipped into the air, pelting your bare skin and burning in your eyes. The waves are crashing, roaring, gurgling with a cruel laughter that echoes in your mind. You hold out your hands, sparks playing along your fingers, trying to keep the water back.

But no troll can hold back the tumultuous depths of the sea.

A wall of blue rose from the ocean, rolling towards you with all the inevitability of a falling meteor. Your hands are still out, you need to stop it, you can’t let it through.

_Can’t let her escape._

The spray hits you and it burns it burns and you can’t move and you can’t do anything and the wave is getting closer and all you can hear is someone laughing and laughing and laughing as you stand there useless and then it’s upon you and you’re rolling and tumbling and you can’t see and you don’t know which way is up and everything hurts and it burns and you’re being dissolved and everything is fading into this all-surrounding blue and-

_Shhh…_

A gentle hand takes yours and you are sitting in a glittering bubble, surrounded by a pair of gloriously warm and deep red wings. They hold you close in their shimmering velvet and the blue fades as a voice whispers in your ear.

_It’ll be alright, honeybee. You’ll be alright._

**====== >**

 

You wake to the sound of an alarm clock. Stumbling out of the now-empty recuperacoon, you notice Aradia's not in the respiteblock. You turn off the alarm and get dressed, then proceed to grab your husktop and head to the _Redglare's_ communal block.

T is and Aradia are sitting together, looking over an article on T's husktop. You stand over their shoulders, and peer down at it. It seems to be a trashy, probably unreliable, and of course not officially sanctioned news journal, the sort that deals in celebrity gossip and scandalous lies. Also, the design and format of the website could hardly be any worse, you think, before you read the headline.

It reads, in large, bold print.

 

**FASHIONISTA KANAYA MARYAM FOUND DEAD.**

**POSSIBLE CULLER VICTIM?! READ INSIDE!**


	20. Magic

 

One troll's 'magic' is another troll's engineering. 'Supernatural' is a null word.  
\- Troll Robert A. Heinlein

 

* * *

  
You are now ERIDAN AMPORA, and you are visiting a lousy lowblood town on some fuckin' planet in the middle a fuckin' nowhere. This is not your idea of fun, obviously, but what the Empress says goes. At least in regards to you.  


At least she's here with you. You couldn't fuckin' stand it if she wasn't.

You had wanted Feferi on the throne for sweeps and sweeps. She's your moirail, and let's be fuckin' honest about it, you've been harborin' a flushed crush on her since who the fuck even knows when. She's the best troll you know, better than you, and not just in blood either. But now that she's actually on that damn golden throne, presiding over the whole fuckin' Empire, you are increasingly of the mind that she's too soft, too giving, and all that.

You mean, that makes sense of course, she's always been caring too much about fuckin' everybody. Like, actually _everybody_. All the trolls. Every damned one. It's just who she is. Some nights you wonder how the fuck Her Imperious Condescension could have spawned a troll as _nice_ as her. You just hope she doesn't get herself assassinated or some shit. The Culler is probably still out there somewhere, and you'd bet Ahab's Crosshairs that there's probably some other trashblood revolutionaries plotting against her to boot, what with how soft she's been.

As you walk, Feferi at your side, through the town hall, to meet the the trolls who run this dump. You arrive in the office some blueblood, one of the folks in charge of the local lowbloods. Feferi waves, shakes hands, drinks tea with him and so on. She's all excited and cheerful, as usual. She really seems to enjoy being Empress, at least since it became clear the Culler didn't have it in for her. She's so happy you could almost smile.

You, on the other hand, are starting to get really bored. Yes, you’re used to diplomatic procedures and you’ve dealt with blueblood bureaucracy for most of your life, but that doesn’t make it any less pan-numbingly dull. Eventually the niceties are done with and it’s time to leave.

“- and we need to remember that the Septima trolls need more policeradicators patrolling the system and-” Feferi was going on about more procedural things, half talking to you, half to one of the many assistants that floated around as a royal entourage.

You sigh quietly and nod as the group walks back through the town square to the ship, making a mental note to grill the assistant on whatever the hell Fef was talking about later. Things seem pretty quiet so you allow your mind, and gaze, to drift as you walk.

Since coming into power your Empress has lost a lot of weight. You always try to keep her eating and make sure she takes care of herself, but with the rigors of ruling an empire that is all but falling apart she forgets.

_Not that it doesn’t suit her_ , you have to admit to yourself. Noticing your thoughts drifting where they shouldn’t you quickly shake them off, snapping your gaze away from the young ruler. Staring pointedly up at the buildings you notice movement.

“These buildings are supposed ta be empty…” you mutter to yourself, too quiet to be heard by anyone else. Squinting slightly, you try to get a better look. It was definitely a troll, but they weren’t going anywhere, just watching. And pulling something out of a sylladex that looked suspiciously like a-

“GET DOWN!”

You leap sideways, bowling into Feferi and knocking her to the paved ground. Barely a split-second later there was a _crack!_ and a bullet went speeding overhead, hitting one of the assistants in the chest. Brown blood began to seep through her clothes as you rolled off your empress and pull Ahab’s Crosshairs out of your own sylladex.

The would-be assassin had just enough time to fire again, the shot going wild and ricocheting off the ground, before you fire yourself. A wide beam of light blasts out of your rifle, burning a fair chunk of the building into a smoldering wreck. There was no way the assassin would have survived.

You turn to assess the damage, dismissing the wounded lowblood almost immediately and going to your moirail to help her up. Feferi is knelt on the ground, eyes wide and mouth gaping in shock. The whole incident had barely lasted three seconds. As soon as you have her on her feet you march towards her ship, the newly commissioned _Merciful Empress_ , glancing around nervously for any other snipers.

Once you are safely on board the ship, you breathe a sigh of relief. The door seals behind you, and you turn to see Feferi, sobbing her eyes out.

**====== >**

After you scream at the pilot to get the two of you offworld, you do your best to calm her down. The two of you sit in the shuttle, and you hold her close.

"Eridan," she says, looking at you. "Why, why would anyone _do_ that? I'm - I've been trying to fix the Empire, and that poor assistant, she, there's no way she's going to survive that wound, she's _dead_ , because I decided I needed to _meet_ my subjects! Hear their problems, and try to fix them! And she's _dead_ , and it's my fault!"

She's more upset about that assistant getting shot up than the fact that it coulda been her. Of course. Typical Fef, but whatever. You shoosh her as best you can, but you gotta admit, you don't think you're that good at it, judging by the continued sobs. You guess you probably need more practice or something. After all, she had always been the happy one, at least until she wound up Empress.

After she's calmed down, (which takes a fuckin long time, you'll add), she heads to her room and takes a nap. You let out a sigh, and look at the sight of her sleeping for a while before you leave, and take a seat on the sofa in the common room. You notice a fantasy novel you'd not had time to look through much lately, though you'd been enjoying it a good deal before Fef got crowned. The book is the 4th in a series full of betrayals, death, war, and the occasional pailing. You're rooting for Troll Stannis Baratheon, the seadweller brother of the dead king who had usurped the throne from Troll Mad Emperor Aerys, a fuschia-blood who even you admit probably deserved what he got. There aren't too many good options to root for in these books, really. Basically everything and everyone sucks, and those who don't are dead.

Troll Stannis is skilled in battle, ruthless and clever, and the rightful king. He even has a sorceress in service to mysterious god on his side. With magic and all that shit. You sometimes wish magic was real, and you had it on your fuckin' side. But that's a silly fuckin pipe dream. You want to save the Empire, but Feferi is closer to Troll Sansa than Troll Daenerys, no matter how much you feel like you're a real-life Troll Jorah Mormont. Fuckin' moirail-zone.

You are interrupted from your reading by your cellular telecom device buzzing. There's a text from an official channel.

  
  


brkthrgh. wtnss n cllr cse n cstdy. rspnd nw pls. lwbld clms cllr s n hmwrld.

  
  


Oh my god that that is the worst typing quirk you've ever seen. If this asshole is exaggerating with his "witness" story, you are going to vaporise him, blueblood military officer or no. You're getting sick of hearing people's theories about the Culler. You just want that fucker dead.

Putting the book down, you call this asshole up.

"Alright, this had better be fuckin' good."

**====== >**

****  
  


It sounds like a genuine breakthrough, bizarrely enough. You don't tell Feferi about it, as she is still sleeping. You do, however, tell the pilot of the to meet up with The _Battleship Condescension_ as fast as fuckin' possible. The _Merciful Empress_ is one of the fastest ships in the galaxy, and the _Condescension_ is the fastest bar none, so within an hour the rendezvous is in progress.

Feferi is still sound asleep when you board the Condescension alone.

You walk past rows of some of the higher ranked soldiers of the Threshecutioner order, who salute you. You're a well known and well respected member of the nobility, far more so now that your moirail is Empress instead of merely the Heiress.

A Threshecutioner commander stands in front of you. He's taller than you, older and likely stronger, being the same blood caste as yourself.

"What brings you out this way, Count Ampora?" He's got a wry smile on his face that you wish you could get away with punching in.

"Important business regarding a lowblood prisoner. Top secret. Get outta my way."

He raises an eyebrow, and lets you pass, but as you walk away, he asks, "There've been no Culler victims in the last several nights, Count Ampora. Can you tell me- is it him?"

"No," you say, and keep walking.

**====== >**

****  
  


The blueblood officer who brought the prisoner in is named Ertwin Sarmis, and upon meeting him you immediate decide he is an insufferable bore. You've gotten that impression over the cell, but it's more painful when you are there in person, because you can't hang up.

Eventually you get him off his rambling about how he's practically solved the Culler case with this, and get his assurance that only you know, he's kept it on the down-low, and contacted you immediately due to your being close to Feferi, and giving you his sympathy having gone through the stress of that just _awful_ assassination attempt on her, and you swear to yourself that vaporizing this pompous buffoon would be doing the universe a favor.

Eventually you grab the prisoner file from his hand, and browse it over. You then look at Ertwin dead in the eye.

"Tavros Nitram, a lowblood cripple, henchman to a "criminal mastermind" who he claims is now deceased at his hand. Claims the Culler is a youth on Alternia, where this Nitram was as well, illegally. Sent a distress signal from a stolen Threshecutioner ship on the planet's surface. Says the Culler culls using... a magical notebook. Insists he has more precise and detailed info he will give if he can talk to someone close to the Empress." You sigh. "The chances of this being a waste of my time just went way the fuck up, but I'm already here. Might as well go ahead with this."

Ertwin stammers out a reply, probably worried that you will punish him if this turns up a dead end, which you will. "I- I think it's a good lead! So, what do you want to do with him?"

"I want to interrogate this fuckin' cripple myself."

**====== >**

****  
  


As you enter the interrogationblock alone, you close the door behind you and lock it. It's a small block, with a table in the center, a locker filled with the prisoner's belongings in the corner, and a fan rotating slowly above the table.

The first thing that strikes you about the prisoner is that he's quivering in his seat. Tavros Nitram has large horns that you suppose many would find attractive, unfortunately attached to a head the has brown eyes filled with trepidation and fear. He's a scrawny whelp of a lowblood, and you already can't fuckin' stand him. It doesn't help that when he opens his mouth to speak, he stutters out a nervous greeting. He even attempts to wave at you with one of his cuffed-together claws, as if you were a fuckin' _friend_ of his, though he can't possibly be that stupid. You can tell he's afraid, after all.

"Tavros Nitram. What the fuck sort of game are you tryin' to play with these lies?"

"Um, what lies? I'm not a good liar, I'm kindof, well, terrible at it, so I guess I don't really bother? I mean, what part of what I told, um, that other officer, did -"

You cut him off, sharply. "I'm not an officer, I'm a _Count_ , you did notice the fuckin' gills, I hope? In your deposition to officer Sarmis, you said you had vital information regarding the Culler. And from what the officer told me, it sounds like it's probably all fuckin' lies. So how about you tell me, why the fuck should I not cull you on the spot?"

He pales, and, leaning away from you in his four wheel device, states, in a small, terrified voice "Because it's, it's um, well, true, I think?"

"You _think_?"

"Well, Vriska said- but then again she, um, said a lot of things, and not all were, uh, well -"

You freeze once he says the name. He keeps blathering on, but you interrupt him again.

" _Vriska_?" you say, as if that was all you needed to ask.

"Uh, yes?"

"Vriska _Serket_?"

He seems taken aback, but nods his head. You are still reeling - this loser knows her, this nobody knows the troll you met who'd done the most earn to your hatred. And worse, she'd _rejected_ it, back in your FLARPing days.

You've never forgiven that bitch.

You leap over the table, knocking him out of his four wheel device onto the floor, and in a flash Ahab's Crosshairs is drawn from your sylladex and pointed at his terrified face.

"What the _fuckin'_ _hell_ does _she_ have to do with all this?"

The lowblood is crying now, terrified, but he answers, still stammering.

"She, she found out the Culler was on, on Alternia, where he was, how he culled. I don't know how she knew, but she said she _found_ him, stole eight pages, of the culling notebook, and, and, umm, left him alive. You need write the, the name and know the face to cull someone, and the Culler, knew nothing about her. But, but she knew all about _him_ , he was, is, young, and, his name, um, starts with a V, I think? I don't know why he, um, stopped culling, though."

You kick him in the ribs, hard, and snarl "And I'm supposed to believe _you_ , a scrawny crippled lowblood, culled _Vriska Serket_! That's what you told the officer, that you culled a criminal mastermind, _her_ of all trolls, apparently and came to inform the empire of of the Culler's alleged location! And this story - these _lies_ , about magic! Who the _fuck_ do you think you're trying to fool?!"

Tavros Nitram's face is contorted in pain. You might have broken a rib when you kicked him. Nevertheless, he still answers, though the sobs. "She, Vriska, was going to write the Empress's name, destroy any hope of peace, I had to stop her, I had to cull her, so I, I shot her, and she's dead."

The story about the notebook is still preposterous, of course, but it occurs to you now that he seems to truly believe it. He thinks he saved your moirail's life by culling Vriska Serket. You don't know what sort of mind game she was pulling on him, but he probably really did gun her down. What an embarrassing way for a tough bitch like Serket to go out. It almost brings a smile to your face.

"So," you ask, careful not to sound angry at the downed lowblood anymore, "where _are_ these notebook pages?"

"Um," he says, hesitating as if debating internally, but then continues, "they're folded up in my jacket pocket, in the locker up over, over there. The officer, uh, missed them when he confiscated, my jacket."

You walk over and yank the jacket out of the locker, and find the folded pages, and a pen. It seems Nitram had tried to keep them as a backup plan, but had it taken from him and put where he couldn't reach without being able to stand. You sling Ahab's crosshairs over your back, and look at the pages. They are all blank, and there seems nothing out of the ordinary about them.

You take the pen and write _Tavros Nitram_. He's still lying on the floor, but is very clearly alive.

"Tavros, magic isn't fuckin' _real_. Vriska lied to you, start to finish. It's what she _does_ , or did, anyway. I don't know how the Culler culls, but magic's _not_ real, you hear me?"

You show him his name on the paper. Tavros flinches, and anything resembling hope drains from his his face.

"But, that's the thing, it, um, magic _is_ real."

Then, suddenly, he twitches and clutches his chest. His eyes roll back into his skull.

You say "What the shit," and after you check his pulse, it dawns on you.

This is exactly what you've always wanted.

**====== >**

You leave, vaporizing the blueblood officer with Ahab's Crosshairs. You burn the file he has on Nitram, and then hurry back to the _Merciful Empress_.

Magic is real.

 

 

  



	21. Revelation

“We apologize for the inconvenience”

  * God’s last message to creation, according to the banned and heretical novel “So Long and Thanks For All the Fish” by Troll Douglas Adams




* * *

 

You are now GAMZEE MAKARA, and you've been waiting for orders for far too motherfucking long. The silence from God has been absolute, since you first spoke with him. You know you have no way, no right to judge His ways, but it's getting to you, all this waiting and hiding.

It's getting on your MOTHERFUCKING nerves, and while you may be a faithful servant, His silence is all kinds of annoying to you. You want to be leading crusade in His name, not sitting around hiding in a nebula in some rarely traveled corner of the galaxy. Well, you guess it'd be a corner if galaxies had corners, but you don't motherfucking care about what means what, you guess.

He has the power to command death, that much has been MOTHERFUCKING demonstrated. But He had told you to lay low, He'd approved of your initiative but then told you to stay out of harm's motherfucking way. You wish God had told you more.

You've been doing your best online to spread the fear of God, but that has been spreading well enough in most of the empire without you. The other mutineers have been restless, though. You've had to cull one or two of them to keep the fear of MOTHERFUCKING GOD in them. Or maybe it's just the fear of you. That would good enough for now.

You sit in the chair that had belonged to a now-dead captain, and you wait, as you have been. Eventually, Ezinir turns back to face you, looking from the pilot's seat. That motherfucker seems to have his frown on, same as you. He's been helpful in keeping order on the ship, shot down one uppity motherfucker on his own, and has piloted the ship to its current location in the void of space.

"Makara, we just gonna stick around here forever?", he all up and asks." The Culler seems to be laying low, only deaths fitting his modus operandi I've I heard reports of lately are dubious tabloid gossip."

"Not forever, brother. If God waits, then so shall we."

Ezinir Veskim's face makes an expression you can't MOTHERFUCKING read. It's the sort of look you'd think would deserve a solid smashing in, if it had belonged to an enemy. As it is, you wish he'd wipe it off his motherfucking face.

He turns away from you, looking ahead. He's all up and fiddling with controls and mechanisms for the ship at his pilot's seat. Then he says, in his bland little voice, "Are you sure you're right?"

"I don't know to what all you may be MOTHERFUCKING meaning, Veskim.", you reply, voice hard-edged and cold. You don't like being doubted.

He continues, still looking away. "Why are you sure The Culler is a god?"

"The God. His motherfucking miracles have me all inspired, Veskim. He's culled the uncullable, put the harshwhimsies of the old church to motherfucking SHAME, you hear? He has the righteous vision for the future, and the power to make it reality."

You stop for a second, remembering, and add, "Also, he told me. He spoke to me, and he MOTHERFUCKING CONFIRMED IT, you hear?"

Veskim's claws freeze on the control console, and in a second more he turns to face you. He looks all motherfucking baffled at your revelation. He doesn't have the faith, but you already had the knowing of his wrongness.

"Gamzee," he says, slowly. "How exactly did God speak to you?"

"HE ALL WENT OUT OF HIS WAY AND CONTACTED ME with the death of one of the captured subjugglators, that shit Cendri Rakari. I AWOKE TO HEAR HIM SCREAMING UP A STORM, went and found him dead, with OUR TRUE MOTHERFUCKING MESSIAH'S TROLLIAN WRITTEN ON THE WALL OF HIS CELLBLOCK, in his own motherfucking blood."

Ezinir sits there, his face all puzzled. "This is the first I've heard of this. Cendri died over a week ago, and you are just now telling me that it wasn't a suicide? And you - you chatted with the Culler on freaking trollian?"

"THAT IS WHAT I MOTHERFUCKING SAID," you bellow.

"So what is God like then, Gamzee?"

"He speaks in angry red letters, bro. HE HAS HIS FURY ON, AND IT IS WELL AND TRULY RIGHTEOUS."

Ezinir nods and says, "Interesting," but is silent after that.

 

**====== >**

 

The night drags on. Eventually you go to the Captain's Cabin and rest the dead troll's recuperacoon. Sleep does not come to you, not for a long motherfucking while.

You wake from uneasy dreams to the sound of screaming and gunfire.

 

**====== >**

 

You lock the door, put on your pants, and grab a club.

There are voices screaming, screaming with MOTHERFUCKING FEAR. There is a voice barking orders, an older adult voice, one you don't recognize. You hear you recognize vaguely as one of your men begging for his life. He is silenced by the sound of another gunshot.

Your phone buzzes in your pocket, and you check it, to see if it is God, your Salvation, but there is no message you can see.

 

Hello.  
TC: GOD?  
Mr. Makara, you have played your part with conviction.  
I applaud you performance, but all the universe is a stage, and I happen to be operating the trapdoor.  
You part was small, I concede, but a part nonetheless.  
I would be surprised you turned on the true gods so easily, but then, you always were going to.  
TC: who the motherfuck is this.  
I already told you. I am god. A mirthful messiah, at least. Haa haa.  
TC: WHAT THE FUCK.  
TC: there are no words here.  
TC: MOTHERFUCKING SAY SOMETHING ALREADY.  
You aren't highlighting it?  
Well then, this is certainly interesting.

 

Someone is banging at the door, trying to break it down. You throw the phone across the room in motherfucking rage, readying your club, and letting loose a ferocious cry.

When the door gives, it hits you in the face, heavier than you'd have guessed. Knocked down under it, you then throw the door off of your prone form, and kneecap one of your attackers with your club while you are still down. Before you can rise and finish him, two other MOTHERFUCKERS pin you down.

You try to struggle free, but it doesn't motherfucking work. They are are older and stronger than you. You keep struggling.

Ezinir walks over to your prone form, holding his gun. He points it at you, and speaks with an infuriating calm.

"Your trollian password is awful, Makara. I read it, and you are an _idiot_. The Culler was lying about his godhood so incredibly obviously. I thought the imperial fleet might be interested in reading your chat too, so I invited them over. Sorry."

A snarl builds in your throat, and you then let out a howl, a frothing guttural howl of rage, and scream with an unbridled fury.

"NO! GOD DOES NOT MOTHERFUCKING LIE, YOU ARE THE LIAR! YOU!"

Shrugging, Ezinir says, "Well, I guess I am too, yeah."

He smiles, and then shoots you in the head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kyky25 is no longer co-authoring this story with me.
> 
> Sorry for the wait everyone!


End file.
